


c'mon baby, make me fall in love with you

by smokeofthetrain



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Skype Sex, Smut, famous!harry, journalist!Louis, the ziam is minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeofthetrain/pseuds/smokeofthetrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an unrecognised and disenchanted journalist working at Real Exposure, a tabloid that’s on the brink of going under. In order to save the paper, Simon, the editor-in-chief, decides they need a story that will shock everyone and keep the name Real Exposure on everybody’s lips.</p><p>Enter Harry Styles, the former teenage popstar turned tabloid darling. Simon is certain Harry is hiding dark secrets about his past, and Louis is tasked with going undercover to dig them up. But when Louis gets a lot closer to Harry than he originally planned, he ends up having to make some serious decisions that could affect his entire career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	c'mon baby, make me fall in love with you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very excited to finally be posting this fic, I've been working on it forever!
> 
> Just to avoid any confusion, I messed with both Harry and Louis' families in this, so that Harry is an only child and Lottie is Louis' only sibling (or the only one mentioned, at least). Also, my depiction of the boy's families is absolutely not a reflection on their real-life counterparts. This is all a complete work of fiction, and not meant to be taken seriously.
> 
> The title is taken from [On the News](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0A3Dznh3ek) by Keaton Henson

 

Louis’ sitting at his desk at work when Zayn walks over. “Cowell wants to see you in his office in five minutes.”

Louis groans. “Oh god, not this again.”

“He has meetings with all the writers every Wednesday, Lou. I don’t know why you always get so worked up.”

“You wouldn’t! Simon fawns over every single word you write! Whereas _I_ just get shouted at for half an hour.”

“Sometimes you kind of deserve though, Lou. I mean, remember last month when you just switched the horoscopes for Taurus and Virgo around one week after the other and hoped no one would notice?”

“Well you try being stuck writing stupid horoscopes for a year and see how long it takes you to run out of bullshit. And I still maintain no one would have actually noticed! Everyone just reads their own month anyway.”

“Well Cowell noticed, didn’t he?” Zayn points out.

Louis puts his elbows on his desk and rests his head in his hands. “A year, Zee. I've been here a year and I’m still a glorified intern, making copies and fetching coffees. The only thing I’m responsible for is the weekly horoscope; do you know how degrading that feels?”

“Degrading Louis? A touch dramatic, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think! You with your poncy TV critic column. You literally get to watch TV for a living; you don’t know the hell I live in!”

Zayn’s openly laughing at him, the asshole. Louis glares at him. Zayn may not understand but Louis’ worked his whole life to get to where he is, and it turns out where he is is precisely... nowhere. And that’s frustrating. All he’s ever wanted to do was be a writer. When he was younger that meant novels, and Man Booker Prizes and global recognition, but when the reality of how hard it was to actually get published set in, Louis switched to the much more achievable dream of becoming a journalist. It was still difficult, and Louis still had to work his arse off to get to where he is today. He thought getting hired at Real Exposure, an actual, well-known tabloid, would be his big break, but so far it’s been anything but.

Eventually Zayn’s laughter dies down, after going on much longer than Louis would’ve liked. “Simon’s given you a few human interest stories too, hasn’t he? He’s just breaking you in, making sure your journalism’s up to standard before he gives you something big to work on. It’s how everyone starts, at the bottom rung of the ladder.”

“I've just been stuck at the bottom rung for a long time is all,” sighs Louis dejectedly. He checks the time. “God, just ignore me. I should head to Simon’s office. Don’t want to keep the editor-in-chief waiting.”

“Yeah sure. Talk to you later, Lou.” Zayn rests a hand on Louis’ shoulder for a moment, before heading back to his own desk.

*

The meeting, to put it mildly, does not go the way Louis expects.

“We need to do something. Something big,” Simon’s saying, pacing around the room. Louis has been sitting in the chair in front of Simon’s desk for the past five minutes, and honestly, he’s a bit lost. Simon had started muttering about circulation and ad revenue and falling profits, and Louis doesn’t really get how that’s relevant to his weekly horoscopes.

“The print media isn’t what it used to be. There isn’t enough room in the market for every tabloid, and we’re in danger of being squeezed out. I had a meeting with our shareholders last week, and they’re concerned. And frankly, so am I. We need something shocking, an exclusive, to draw the readers back in.”

“Okay,” Louis’ brow creases, trying to follow Simon’s train of thought. “So do you want to sniff out someone trying to sell a story for you? I could do that. I’m sure every celebrity has a disgruntled ex-security guard or a former agent willing to sell us something good for the right amount of money.”

“For the right amount of money, maybe.” Simon rubs his hands over his face and lets out as heavy sigh. “Look, anyone willing and able to sell their story to the press probably already has. It would take an awful lot to money to convince anyone else. And unfortunately, we just don’t have those kinds of funds. Not with how tight our profit margins have been lately.”

“Okay so...” Louis doesn’t really know what to say, but Simon’s looking at him as if he expects some kind of response. “I’m sorry but I don’t know what this is about,” he admits.

“What it’s about? It’s about a story, Tomlinson! A big one. Big enough establish Real Exposure as one of the UK’s leading tabloids.” Simon normally treats everything, good or bad, with an air of casual disdain, but now he looks fired up, eyes glinting. He turns to Louis. “You’ve heard of Harry Styles, yes?”

“Of course,” Louis replies. It’s impossible to have worked in tabloid journalism for any length of time without having heard of Harry Styles. Barely a day goes by that the kid isn’t in the papers, normally for unfavourable reasons. Falling out of nightclubs, smashing a paparazzo’s camera, being caught speeding by the police. And not to mention his womanising reputation. Harry Styles is a teenage pop sensation turned bad boy musician, and in the eyes of many the personification of having too much too soon.

Plus, Lottie is absolutely obsessed with him. Whenever Louis goes back up to Donny to visit his family, he’s greeted with his sister blasting tracks from Harry’s latest album, and posters of his face covering every inch of surface space in her bedroom. Granted, it’s not a particularly bad face to look at, but still... A pretty face doesn’t exactly make up for a bratty attitude.

“We’re going to do a piece on Harry Styles. Something that will get everyone talking. And you’re going to write it.”

Wait. What?

“Me?” Louis squeaks, shocked.

“Yes, you. Look, Tomlinson, you’ve worked here how long? Eight months?”

“Um, twelve actually,” Louis corrects. “Thirteen next week.” He’s a bit dazed.

“Twelve months! I bet you’re chomping at the bit to get your hands on a real story.”

Simon’s smiling at him like he’s granting him a huge favour, but Louis’ internally panicking. Writing a story that’s going to stop Real Exposure going the way of most of the rest of the print media sounds like an enormous responsibility and Louis’ never handled responsibility particularly well. He was fired from the Toymaster he worked in back in Donny when he was sixteen ‘cause he let his mates shoot at each other in the aisles with NERF guns. The only reason he’d actually done well in school and college was because he wanted to escape Doncaster. Even then, he’d hardly been a saint. He’d done his fair share of drink and drugs, even alongside all the hard studying.

“I’d love to do a huge story, of course I would,” he explains. “But. Well, I just wasn’t exactly expecting my first big story to be something _this_ huge. I mean, the biggest article I've ever written was on that lady last July who got fired from the recycling plant she worked at after she found one of Adele’s birthday cards in the rubbish she was sorting and sold it on eBay. I would love to start writing bigger articles, don’t get me wrong, it’s just this seems like a story for one of the more experienced staff members.”

Simon sighs, and sits down. “Louis, I’ll be frank with you. I can’t use a big name for this story, and all of the other entertainment writers on staff are big names. They’d all be recognised immediately. If not by Styles then by the people around him. But you? No offense, but nobody knows who Louis Tomlinson is. Not yet. But this article would change that.”

Somebody really needs to tell Simon that saying no offense does not automatically stop anyone from getting offended. Still Louis can’t deny the measure of truth in his words.

“Why would it be a problem is they were recognised though?” he asks next, bemused. “Wouldn’t people prefer working with a respected journalist?”

“Well here’s the thing, Louis. Harry won’t know there’s a story being written. And neither will anyone connected to him. You’ll be undercover. A sting operation.”

“A sting? Aren’t there laws against that?”

“If it involves hacking phones and emails, then yes. We can’t go down that route, it’s too risky nowadays. But if you can get Harry’s trust and he tells you something in confidence, then legally there’s nothing stopping you from writing a story about it.”

Simon looks gleeful, but Louis just feels a little sick. He knows journalists have a reputation as being untrustworthy and intrusive, but that’s not the kind of reporter he’d thought he’d ever be. Gaining someone’s trust only to betray them for the sake of a story wasn’t something he was morally okay with.

“Simon, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Louis, I’ll level with you. If this story doesn’t get written, then this paper is going under. And if this paper goes under, then you and everyone else on staff are out of a job. So it _is_ being written, either by you or by someone else. I’m sure that intern, Edwards, would be delighted to take it on.” Simon finally takes a seat opposite Louis. “You’re a good writer, Louis. I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t. And I want to give you a chance to show that. That’s what this story is. A chance.”

Louis knows a threat when he hears one, even if it is veiled. Simon could hold him back for years, making him do useless tasks and silly fluff pieces that really should be given to the interns. And yes, he could quit and try get a job somewhere else. But Simon wasn’t lying about the slow death of the print media, and positions at other firms would be limited and tough to get. Especially without a glowing reference from Simon.

Shit. Louis is fucked.

“What if there is no story?” What if I spend months with Harry Styles, and all I get is that he’s founded an orphanage and volunteers at the weekends?”

“Harry Styles?” Simon scoffs. “Please, the guy’s drunk more often that he’s sober. His team are scrambling to hold his image together for the sake of his teen fanbase. Not to mention it’s a well-known fact in the industry that he never speaks to his family. They’ve always been distant with each other, for as long as that boy’s been in the spotlight at least. There’s a story there, trust me. And for all our sakes, you’d better sniff it out and pray it’s something good. So. You in?”

Louis can’t really see a way _out_ , so he nods. “What do I have to do?” he asks warily.

“Good man, Tomlinson,” Simon beams, “I knew I could rely on you. First things first, you and Harry have to actually meet. There’s a charity event on Friday. Just a banquet in the Clarington Hotel, but lots of celebrities are due to attend, including Harry Styles. I’ve put my name down, and I want you to attend in my place.”

Simon hashes out the details a little further, going into what he expects from Louis. Apparently not only is he to keep track of Harry’s behaviour, he also has to charm Harry, and ‘lay the foundations of a future friendship,’ as Simon puts it. Ideally, Simon wants Louis to arrange to meet up with Harry again in the near future, reliably informing Louis that Harry is particularly partial to a game of golf. Louis doesn’t see how he’s going to manage it. Celebrities are hardly in the business of handing out their personal contact details and agreeing to hang out with virtual strangers, are they? He says as much to Simon.

“You’d better find a way, Tomlinson. Tickets to this event weren’t cheap, and this paper can’t afford for you to mess this up. You’re charming, and I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with some excuse as to why you’d need his number.”

Louis leaves Simon’s office feeling shell-shocked. He must look it too, because Zayn raises a questioning eyebrow at him from across the room.  Louis sends him a quick email once he gets back to his desk.

_I’m coming over to your place after work. We need to talk._

 

~*~

 

That weekend Louis finds himself staring into his wardrobe and wondering, not for the first time, what the hell he’s getting himself into.

“Why did I let Cowell talk me into this?” he groans, partially to himself, but also partially hoping Zayn will give him a reassuring answer.

Zayn, who has been sitting on the end of his bed, texting and paying Louis minimal amounts of attention, looks up and shrugs. “Haven’t a fucking clue, mate.”

Louis’ going to hit him. “Zaaaaayn, please! I need some kind of reassurance here. I’ve basically got to befriend this bloke with the sole purpose of tricking him into spilling all his secrets to me. Please make me feel like less of a terrible, terrible person.”

Zayn sighs, but he finally puts down his phone, looking Louis straight in the eyes. “Louis, listen. I know you feel bad, but if you don’t do this Cowell will have you bullshitting horoscopes for the rest of your life. This is your chance to do some actual fucking journalism. If this goes well there’s no way Simon won’t give you some more actual articles to write.”

Louis nods. Zayn’s right and he knows it. This is Louis’ entire career on the line. Everything he’s done so far - his journalism degree, countless internships, shitty web-articles, everything! – has all led to this. His chance to finally establish himself in the world of print journalism. To make a name for himself.

“Plus,” Zayn continues, “This isn’t just some kid. This is Harry Styles. The bloke’s an arsehole, by all accounts. Everyone knows it. Apart from his fans of course, but they’d forgive anyone who had his curls and his eyes.” Zayn makes a face.

“Okay, okay, I get your point.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, I can do this. Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s why you invited me over here, isn’t it? For moral support.”

“And to help me put on my tie. Here,” Louis throws the tie at Zayn, who makes a half-hearted attempt at catching it before letting it fall to the floor.

“Oh for god’s sake, Zayn.”

“Yeah, sorry. Give me a minute and I’ll pick it up. Just finishing this text.”

Louis rolls his eyes before turning away from Zayn and shrugging into his suit jacket. “You and Liam are sickening, you know that? Do you have to text him every second you’re apart?”

“Don’t get jealous, Lou,” Zayn smirks. He finally puts down his phone and grabs the tie. He walks over to Louis and slings the tie around his neck. As he ties it, his gaze turns slightly serious. “You’ll find someone too.”

Louis sighs. “I don’t know. I know you think you’ve found the person you’re meant to be with for the rest of your life but maybe... Maybe you and Liam are a one-off.”

“Louis!” Zayn admonishes, and oh no, Louis knows that tone. “Is this about what happened with Aiden? I've told you, he was a dickhead but-”

“Oh god, Zayn, not everything is about Aiden.” Louis’ quick to stop this lecture before it begins. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before anyway. In fact, he could probably recite the entire speech from heart. “Look, I’m just saying, you have this idea in your head that everyone has a soul mate. And you think you’ve found yours, and that’s brilliant Zayn, that’s fantastic, but...”

“But?” Zayn prompts.

“But, I’m just not sure there’s someone like that out there for me.” Louis hates how small his voice sounds. He hates it even more when he catches Zayn giving him a poorly disguised look of pity.

“Oh Lou. You’ve had some bad experiences with guys, but that doesn’t mean all guys are going to treat you like that.”

“But that’s exactly it. It’s not just the fact that I've had bad experiences, Zee. It’s that I haven’t really had any great ones either. I mean, some of the guys I've dated were lovely. Like Andrew! You remember Andrew? He was so kind and considerate, always held doors open for me, pulled out chairs for me. Above everything he was actually fucking willing to stick around. But no matter what he did, or I did, I still just couldn’t _feel_ anything for him. It was just... nice. And I don’t really think it’s supposed to be ‘just nice’.”

The pity in Zayn’s eyes seems to have grown, and Louis can’t stand it, can’t bear to see his best friend look at him like that. Louis keeps rambling, trying to assure Zayn that he is _fine_.

“I’m twenty-six years old and I've never been in love. I've come close maybe a few times, but... Well, you know what happened there. I wanted too much, too fast from the relationship and they scarpered. Story of my life. I’m just saying, I don’t think I’m destined for some great romance. And you know what? That’s okay, really. It’s not like I’m unhappy or anything.”

“But you’re not really that happy either, are you?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I am. I have good friends, a good family, and as of Wednesday, even my career is looking up. I have a lot to be thankful for.” And Louis means it. He does. If this is his lot in life, he’ll accept it and be grateful.

But. But he still can’t quiet the small voice that’s telling him it’s not enough. He goes to bed most nights alone and wakes up most mornings alone. And he feels it, that loneliness. He feels it right down to his bones. He puts on a brave face, when he goes over to Zayn and Liam’s and they sit on the sofa cuddling while he’s relegated to the armchair. When there’s a film on in the cinema he really wants to see, and he goes with Zayn and Liam and ends up feeling like he’s crashing their date.

Zayn remains quiet, using the silence to prompt Louis to speak. Louis knows that trick though, and he’s not falling for it.

Instead he sighs, and says, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Just tell me, how do I look?

Zayn accepts the subject change. “Very smart. You’ll blend in no problem with all the industry big-wigs.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

*

Louis arrives at the event around two hours after it starts, stating Simon’s name at the door to get past security. Wandering inside, he realises rather quickly that he has probably set himself up for quite a dull night, all told. Industry insiders and fellow journalists all mill around, chatting to each other with insincere smiles, clutching complimentary glasses of wine. Louis doesn’t really know anyone, which doesn’t come as that much of a surprise. There are a few familiar faces in the small crowd of journalists and media types that have gathered over in one corner of the room, but he can’t go over and speak to them. If Harry caught him chatting with that sortthen he’d probably assume straightaway that Louis was one of them. Louis’ not taking any chances.

Speaking of Harry Styles, he’s nowhere to be seen. Louis isn’t surprised. So far the room is filled with celebrities from the C-list and lower. Louis snorts. A big name like Styles probably adheres religiously to the fashionably late rule. Unfortunately, that doesn’t leave Louis with a whole lot to do except wait for his arrival. Which is how Louis finds himself sitting alone by the bar, cradling an overpriced whiskey sour. Honestly he expected celebrity parties to be a bit more… exciting than this.

A sudden commotion makes Louis turn and look towards the entrance. There he is. Louis is finally getting his first look at Harry Styles in person. Louis feels a small measure of surprise when his eyes lock onto Harry. He realises he was expecting him to look dishevelled and walking with a stumble or something, the way he’s always depicted in magazines. Instead, he looks remarkably put together. He cuts a tall, lean figure, his suit fitting him like a dream. He’s even wearing a bowtie, for god’s sake. He looks... incredible.

Immediately Harry is surrounded by people, all vying for his attention. Louis scoffs. Harry Styles may be an arrogant asshole, but as long as he keeps making money, these people will fawn all over him. Louis decides to wait until Harry is less occupied to go over and introduce himself.

Louis spends a few more minutes observing Harry. He actually seems quite nice, Louis thinks, at least on the surface. He’s smiling politely at the old men who come round to shake his hand and he even manages to look vaguely sincere as he laughs at their undoubtedly shit jokes. Louis can see it now; can see how all those teen girls swoon at pictures of him. When he’s not drunk or high off his face, Harry Styles is charm personified.

That is, until a waitress wanders over to him, a tray of wine glasses balanced in her hand. Harry immediately flashes her a toothy grin, and accepts a glass of wine from the tray, as do several of the others gathered around him. However, before the waitress can turn away, Harry places a hand on her arm and leans in, whispering something in her ear.

The girl doesn’t seem to mind, looking intrigued rather than disgusted and from the salacious wink Harry gives her after he pulls back, Louis doesn’t really have to guess to know what he’s saying. Eventually he releases her, and lets her walk away. She keeps throwing him backward glances, and Louis swears he sees her lick her lips.

Unable to look anymore, Louis turns back to the bar. That’s the Harry Louis read about in the papers. God, he’d only been at the event for five minutes and he was already hitting on the first female he’d laid eyes on. It makes Louis’ skin prickle.

As someone in the business, Louis knows all too well how news outlets exaggerate stories. People don’t want to read about celebrities fundraising for charities. They want to know about the drugs, the sex, the scandals. Hell, that’s the reason Louis is in this exact room. Looking at Harry as his eyes scan over the retreating waitress, Louis thinks that yeah, sometimes the press exaggerates, but maybe sometimes they _don’t_. Maybe some people really are as bad as their media alter egos seem.

As he’s thinking, Louis finishes his whiskey sour and promptly calls the barman over for another. He should probably slow down a bit, after all, he is technically here to work, but he’d look even stranger sitting at the bar by himself without even a drink to nurse.

Suddenly there’s a presence by his side, and Louis glances over just in time to see Harry Styles set down an empty wine glass on the bar beside him. And... wow. Louis knew Harry was good-looking, but all those posters, those HQ paparazzi pictures, decidedly did not do him justice. In person, this close up, he’s just breathtaking. His hair is soft and shiny, and Louis’ fingers twitch like they want to touch it. And his lips… they’re so plump and pink and Louis’ mind instantly begins taking him in a wildly inappropriate direction. He hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, okay?

Up this close though, Louis also notices how tired Harry looks. There are purple shadows underneath his eyes, and his eyes look watery and slightly red-rimmed. Even the clear exhaustion however does nothing to diminish his beauty. Harry Styles isn’t human.

Harry gets the barman’s attention and orders a double vodka red bull, before looking over at Louis. With a jolt Louis realises he was staring and from the smirk on Harry’s face, it looks like it didn’t exactly go unnoticed either. Just brilliant.

“I’m Harry Styles,” Harry introduces himself, offering Louis his hand. Smarmy fucker.

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” Louis takes his hand and shakes it, and oh god, his hands are _big_. Louis tries not to think about what that might mean. “And I know who you are, Mr. Styles.” Hell, Louis might as well be honest. And really, it’d be stranger if he hadn’t heard of Harry Styles. The bloke is in the papers almost every day of the week; even Louis’ grandmother knows who he is.

“Please, call me Harry. Mr. Styles is my dad.” The barman brings Harry’s drink over and Harry thanks him before turning back to Louis. “So what are you doing sitting by yourself?”

“Oh, um, I’m just waiting for a friend to arrive, actually,” Louis lies. “Kind of starting to think they might have stood me up.”

“Oh, just a friend or?”

“Yeah, yeah just a friend. There isn’t- there isn’t anyone,” he shares unnecessarily before he can stop himself. He’s cringing internally immediately. Oh god, he really didn’t mean to make himself sound this pathetic three sentences in to the conversation. The talk he had with Zayn before going out has clearly affected him more than it was supposed to.

“Right,” muses Harry, and maybe it’s Louis’ imagination but he swears Harry’s eyes flick over him, just for a second. Then Harry smiles and points at Louis’ drink. “Bit fruity, isn’t it? We’re not at the Red Dragon.”

Louis narrows his eyes, not really sure how to take Harry’s comment. The Red Dragon is the name of one of the more popular gay bars in the city, and a place Louis happens to be very familiar with. “I wish I was at the Red Dragon. At least then I wouldn’t be charged through the nose for watered down drinks,” he eventually says.

Harry smiles at that and it might be his imagination but Louis thinks his eyes brighten. All he says however is “I wouldn’t know,” in an incredibly casual tone of voice.

And oh, of course. Of course Harry Styles wouldn’t step foot inside a gay bar. Heaven forbid he takes a break from chasing after skirt for a night. Louis bites down the scathing retort he feels like making, and just makes a noncommittal grunt in its place.

There’s silence for a moment, before Harry gestures towards Louis’ drink. “Not a fan of the free wine?”

“Not really, definitely more of fruity drinks man.”

“Can I have your cherry?”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“The cherry in your drink. Can I have it?”

“Um, sure.” Feeling rather undignified, Louis fishes the cherry out of his glasses with his fingers, and hands it over to Harry. He looks around for a napkin, but there don’t seem to be any nearby, so he ends up wiping his fingers off on his pants leg, hoping Harry doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” says Harry, absently tossing the cherry from hand to hand. “Do you want to see something?”

“I have a feeling I’m about to see something whether I want to or not,” Louis quips, somewhat snarkily. He immediately kicks himself. He’s supposed to be getting himself on Harry’s good side, not giving him attitude. Luckily Harry laughs, a throaty sound that makes his entire face light up.

Harry holds the cherry to his mouth. “Just watch,” he instructs, before popping it in. He then proceeds to make a series of extremely strange facial expressions, which make Louis bite down on his lip to try to suppress a grin. He’s quite sure his attempt fails.

“Ta dah!” Harry says triumphantly, holding up the knotted stem. “Tied it in a knot with my tongue.”

Louis claps his hands together sarcastically. “I can see that. That’s true talent right there,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Yes, well. I’ll have you know that my tongue is supremely talented.”

Louis almost chokes on his mouthful of whiskey, and his vision may white out a little thinking about Harry’s talented tongue, but he thinks he covers it well. “Really?” he asks, after just slightly too long, quirking an eyebrow. His voice is only a tiny bit higher than normal.

“Really,” states Harry. His eyes are glinting, and there’s a boyish mischievousness about his face.

Oh god, is Louis really flirting with Harry Styles? And is it his imagination, or is Harry Styles actually flirting _back_?

It seems like Harry has possibly realised the same thing as Louis, because all of a sudden his expression becomes guarded, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, well. I actually should be getting back.” He gestures at the group of people. “It was nice talking to you, Louis.” Sending Louis a tight smile, he grabs his drink from the bar and leaves.

Louis’ confused at the abrupt change in Harry’s demeanour. He stares at Harry’s retreating back, trying to figure out what he said wrong. Maybe the flirting had just gotten too much for him. His masculinity started feeling threatened or something.

Harry reaches his friends, and as Louis watches, leans over and whispers in the ear of the blond guy he arrived with, and oh god, he’s gesturing towards Louis. The blond frowns and Louis snaps his eyes away quickly as he feels the guy’s gaze turn and settle on him.

Why did Harry point him out? Maybe he was suspicious of Louis already. They’d barely even had a full conversation, is Louis _really_ that bad at subtlety? He stays staring down at the surface of the bar, afraid for the time being to look back over at Harry in case he arouses any more suspicion.

_Don’t fuck this up, Tomlinson._

Louis eventually decides to mingle, reasoning that it probably would be even more suspect if he sat at the bar by himself for the entire night and didn’t speak a word to anyone. He ends up chatting to an older woman by the name of Kate, who seems to have indulged quite a lot in the free wine. She keeps running her hand up and down Louis’ arm, and leaning in to his space. Louis feels a bit bad for not just telling her he’s gay and getting her to stop, but honestly he’s just so bored. He’s quite enjoying having someone to talk to, even if that person does keep asking him what he’s planning to do later.

“Have you ever been to Corfu, dear?” she’s in the middle of asking him. “It’s absolutely lovely there this time of year. My first husband and I used to go all the time. I still have an apartment there, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh,” Louis says stupidly. Kate’s placed a hand on his chest, and it’s all getting a bit cosy for Louis’ tastes. He glances around the room, looking for an escape.

It’s only then that Louis realises he can’t see Harry Styles anywhere. He’d been right there, circling the room and blending in with various groups of old men, but now he’s nowhere in sight, and he’s not at the bar either.

Shit, what if Harry _left_? Simon is going to kill him. He was meant to charm Harry, strike up the beginnings of a beautiful friendship. Instead, all he’d managed to get was a five minute conversation and a stupid cherry trick.

He has to go look for Harry, but Kate’s still smiling up at him and she’s moved in closer, her entire body pressed against his. The hand on his chest is trailing slowly down to his hip, and Louis _really_ needs to leave. He extricates himself smoothly, Kate giving him a disgruntled look as he steps out of her grip.

Louis smiles politely. “If Corfu is anywhere as wonderful as you say it is, my boyfriend and I will absolutely have to pay it a visit,” he says, “But, if you’ll excuse me, I've just seen someone I need to speak to. It’s been lovely meeting you.”

With that, he’s heading off across the room, ignoring Kate’s bewildered expression. He weaves in and out of groups, trying to catch sight of that curly mop of hair. It’s absolutely nowhere to be seen, and after a few minutes Louis admits defeat. Harry must have left then.

His heart sinks. He has next to nothing about the night to report on Monday to Simon. His first big assignment and he’s fucking it up. He rubs his face with his hands, taking a deep breath. There’s nothing he can do, he supposes. He decides to make a quick stop to the restroom and then head home.

The toilets are located down one of the hotel corridors, and it takes Louis a minute to actually find them, eventually having to ask one of the hotel workers for directions. She’s kind enough to lead him to them, stopping right outside the door before he thanks her and sends her on his way.

The scene that greets him when he swings open the door makes him stop dead in his tracks; his need to go to the toilet completely vanished. “Oh,” he squeaks, before he can stop himself.

Harry’s bent over at the sinks, finger over nostril, sniffing up a line of white powder. He jolts upright when Louis speaks, and whirls to face him. His eyes are wide, but they narrow again and Harry smiles when he takes in Louis.

“Louis from the bar!” he exclaims, with a good deal more enthusiasm than the situation requires. Louis realises very quickly that Harry is quite a long way away from being sober. He doesn’t know what he expected really. So far, Harry seems to be doing his very best to live up to the stories written about him.

“You remembered my name,” is what Louis blurts out. He’s surprised that Harry had, to be honest. He’s sure Harry probably gets introduced to a countless number of people every day of the week, and he and Louis hadn’t spoken long. A brief frisson of hope runs through Louis that maybe he hasn’t blown his chances here tonight after all. Hell, it might be even easier to extract a phone number from Harry in his current state. The downside being, of course, that Harry may not even remember giving Louis his phone number in the morning. In fact, watching how Harry seems to be clinging onto sink in an effort to remain upright, there’s a very good chance that Harry will remember approximately none of this tomorrow.

“Of course I remembered,” Harry slurs, then adds, “You’re the hottest guy in here.”

Louis blinks. And then he blinks again. “Um, thanks,” he says stupidly. Harry just smiles at him.

“So, what’ve you got there?” Louis asks, gesturing at the remnants of powder on the sink.

“Oh, just some coke. Do you want some? I have another bag here somewhere.” Harry begins patting the pockets of his suit, fumbling clumsily.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Louis hastens to stop him. “It’s not really my thing actually. Not since my college days anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugs. “Hey, did your friend ever show up?”

“Friend?”

“You know, the one you were waiting for at the bar.” And oh, _that_ friend. Louis clearly underestimated Harry’s memory.

“Oh yeah, they shot me a text saying they couldn’t make it. ‘S alright though. That’s what parties are for, right? Making new friends.” Louis gives Harry a pointed look, desperately hoping he isn’t coming on too strong. Then again, Harry probably isn’t in the right frame of mind to pick up on any subtle hints.

Harry just laughs at him. “Good luck making a friend in that room full of old men.” He sniffs and rubs his nose.

“They’re not all old men. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“You want to be my friend, Louis?” He sounds amused, but Louis also detects a hint of scepticism.

“Sure, why not? You don’t think we could be friends?” Louis finally crosses the room and leans back against the sinks next to Harry. This close, Louis can see how blown out Harry’s eyes are, just a thin strip of green visible. It makes him look doe-eyed and vulnerable, and Louis is suddenly reminded just how young Harry is. Only twenty-one, and already with three albums under his belt.

“Maybe we could be,” Harry murmurs. He sounds strangely wistful, a hint of melancholy laced through his words.

A silence falls over them that Louis isn’t sure how to fill. Harry keeps twitching, fingers constantly pulling at the fabric of his trousers, foot tapping against the floor.

“Well,” Louis starts, clapping his hands together, “If I’m to be your friend, Harry Styles, I need to know more about you.”

“Like what?” Harry asks, sounding amused.

“Like… your favourite film.”

“Love Actually. I watch it every Christmas.”

“Really Harry? A wealth of groundbreaking cinema out there and your favourite is a soppy romcom?” Louis shakes his head, tutting.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry says defensively, dragging out the word. “It’s a classic. Don’t be such a film snob. What’s yours then?”

“Hmm, maybe Forrest Gump.”

“Forrest Gump? I like that one too.” Harry smiles softly, still fidgeting a little.

“Of course you do,” Louis tells him. “Tom Hanks is a genius.”

“Nice guy too,” Harry remarks offhandedly.

“Have you met him?”

Harry nods, and Louis’ jaw drops. “I can’t believe you met him! He’s one of my idols.”

Harry laughs, a throaty sound that reverberates around the tiled room. “I just said hello, really. He was presenting at an awards show last year and I ran into him backstage.”

He says it so casually, like those kinds of things happen all the time. Louis can’t even imagine what it’s like to be a part of that world. To run in the same circles as the people you grew up watching on TV or in movies, the people you grew up listening to on the radio. It’s overwhelming just thinking about it, and Louis doesn’t even have to live it.

He’s broken from his reverie by a movement next to him, and he turns to see Harry staring at him intently.

“You okay there, Styles?” he asks warily.

“You’re eyes are so beautiful. And so blue. It’s like looking at the sky.”

Before Louis knows what’s happening, Harry’s lips have connected with his. His arm winds around Louis’ waist, hand resting on his lower back, pulling them close together. Louis freezes, unable to process anything except the feeling of Harry’s soft lips moving against his. He can’t help himself, it feels like his mind’s short-circuited, and he kisses back. He lets himself get lost in it as their kisses grow needier, hungrier. Harry opens Louis’ mouth with his lips and presses his tongue inside, and Louis feels like he can’t even breathe.

Harry walks Louis until they come up against a wall. Harry presses him against it, his entire body connected with Louis’. His hands snakes down from Louis back and land on his bum. He squeezes it, and breaks the kiss to murmur, “So hot Louis, you’re so fucking hot,” before leaning back in again and recapturing Louis’ mouth.

Suddenly, Louis returns to his senses and he realises what he’s doing. He’s kissing Harry Styles. Why the fuck is he kissing Harry Styles? He pushes Harry, just hard enough to get him off him. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated both his own strength and Harry’s stability, and Harry stumbles backwards, hitting his head off the sink as he falls to the ground.

Louis stands there frozen in horror, unable to even react.

“Ow,” says Harry, simply. He raises a hand to the back of his head, before taking it down to look at it. His fingers are coated in a thin layer of blood. “Am I bleeding?” he asks Louis. He looks vaguely puzzled. “Is that my blood?”

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” Louis babbles, broken from his stupor. “Oh god. Just stay there, okay? I’ll get help, just don’t move.”

Harry frowns. “I think I _am_ bleeding.”

“Stay there, Harry,” Louis calls over his shoulder one last time, before leaving the room and racing down the hall. His intention is to get to the hotel reception and find someone there who can help, but as he’s turning a corner in the corridor he runs bodily into someone else.

“Umph,” the person grunts. Louis reaches out his hands and grabs him just before he’s about to fall. This is really not Louis’ day. He’s injuring everyone he comes into contact with.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” It’s only then that Louis gets a good look at the bloke’s face, and he realises it’s the blonde guy Harry had arrived with.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” he says, and oh, he’s Irish. He brushes himself down, and then he looks at Louis, recognition blooming on his face. “Hey, you were talking to Harry at the bar earlier weren’t you?”

“Um, yes,” says Louis, wondering what the hell Harry said to this bloke about him. Before he can say anything else, the blond is interrupting.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen him anywhere by any chance? I've been looking for him everywhere.”

“Actually, I have. He’s in the toilet. He, uh, might be sort of... injured?”

The blond blinks. “Injured?”

“Yeah, he... fell. And he hit his head, it’s bleeding a bit. I just left him to go get help.”

“Take me to him, would you?”

“Sure, okay. Um, this way.”

When Louis and the blond boy arrive back at the toilet, Harry is sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him, trying to touch his toes. All while humming ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” exclaims the blond.

Harry’s head whips up, and he looks at the boy, a beatific expression on his face. “Niall!” he crows happily. “I’m doing yoga; do you want to join me?”

“I most definitely do not. Stand up, you idiot, I need to take a look at your head.”

Harry giggles, and proceeds to make several failed attempts at getting to his feet. Eventually Niall and Louis just stand at either side of him and haul him up. Harry keeps swaying, so Louis stays holding on to him while Niall examines his head. Harry flinches away from Niall’s touch a little, but other than that he doesn’t seem to be in too much pain.

“Ah, it’s only a scratch really,” Niall concludes.

Louis frowns. “Really? There’s a lot of blood.”        

“Yeah. You know what they say. Head wounds bleed the worst, and all that.”

“Are you sure that’s not a myth, though?”

Niall just shrugs. “How should I know? I’m not a doctor. In any case, I should probably take him home. He’s in a right state.”

“Need to get him cleaned up a bit first; he can’t go out looking like this. Could you just hold him steady while I grab some tissues...?”

“It’s Louis,” Louis tells him.

“I’m Niall, in case you didn’t gather.” He grabs some tissues and runs them under the tap for a moment before coming back to Harry. “Stay still.”

He pushes the curls away from the back of Harry’s head and wipes away the blood, as much as he can. Some of it has gotten on Harry’s shirt and suit jacket though. “God, you’re a mess Harry,” Niall admonishes, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to sneak you out. Can’t have the paps taking pictures of you clearly off your face and with blood all down you.”

Niall evidently may as well be talking to himself. Harry’s staring at the ceiling, mouth moving, muttering under his breath. When Louis listens closely he realises he’s whispering the words to ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’.

“Um, is he really okay? I don’t just mean the head thing.”

Niall pauses for a moment. “Depends. You know what he took?”

“Just coke, I think. That’s all I saw.”

“Oh right. I’d say he’s mainly just drunk then, although he _knows_ not to take coke when he’s been drinking; I've told him a hundred times. God, it’s going to be a bitch getting him to sleep tonight.”

Niall seems to be taking everything very calmly. “Does he do this a lot?” Louis probes. He is meant to be finding out information on Harry after all.

“A lot? Not really, but we just flew in from LA this afternoon, I think he just need a pick-me-up. I know how he feels, I’m jetlagged as fuck. Listen, could I actually ask you for a favour?”

“I guess?” Louis says, hesitantly.

“I just need you to help me sneak him out. Like I’ll hold him up when we’re walking through the corridors and you can walk a bit ahead and just make sure there’s no one coming? There’s journalists hanging around this party, and they’d have a field day if they saw him like this.”

Louis feels a small stab of guilt in his stomach. “Yeah, yeah no problem. Are we leaving now?”

“Yeah, one second. I've just gotta message Harry’s driver so he knows we’re on the way.” Niall taps something on his phone for a minute, and then pockets it. He walks over to Harry and places a hand around his waist, while Harry rests an arm across Niall’s shoulders.

They drag Harry through the hallways with relative ease, dodging one or two people here and there. It’s all going surprisingly well.

Of course, it’s right at that moment that Harry decides to pipe up, apropos of nothing. “You know what, Niall? Louis is a _great_ kisser.”

A beat of silence. And then...

“ _Is_ he now? That’s a story I’d like to hear more of. Have you been kissing my dear friend here, Louis?”

Louis’ cheeks are burning. He doesn’t even fully know why. “He kissed me actually! But just for a second, then I pushed him off. I don’t really think he was thinking straight.”

“Thinking straight? Hah, good one!”

Louis groans. “That pun was unintentional. I hate puns.”

“You’re lucky Hazza’s too spaced to listen to you. He’d definitely have something to say to you about that.”

“A great kisser,” Harry repeats.

They reach the underground car park without incident. Niall drags Harry over to a waiting car, and the driver immediately hops out to open one of the back doors. Niall shoves Harry indelicately inside, and tells the driver “Thanks, Geoff, I got it from here.” The man, Geoff apparently, nods and goes back to sit at the wheel.

“I might throw up in here,” Harry warns him, as he lays splayed out across the seats.

“I don’t give a fuck if you do, Harry. It’s your car.” With that, Niall slams the door shut, the blacked out windows immediately obscuring Harry from view. He turns back to Louis. “Thanks so much for your help with that fucking idiot,” he says, pointing his thumb back at the car.

“It’s the least I could do. I mean, I may have given him a possible concussion.”

Niall waves his hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s not the first injury Harry’s gotten during a night out, and it won’t be the last.” He sounds rueful, but resigned. “I’ll get someone to have a look at him back at the flat or something to make sure, but he’ll be okay.”

“So, what exactly is your connection to Harry? Are you his assistant or something?” asks Louis, curiosity getting the better of him.

Niall snorts. “Yeah, I suppose, although some days I feel more like his babysitter.” His expression grows more serious and he continues quieter. “I’m his friend too, though. I care about him a lot. I worry a lot.”

Niall seems to hesitate for a moment then, and casts a quick look back at the car before turning to Louis. “Listen, I hope you don’t think this is weird, but could I maybe get your number? I know tonight was a bit wild, but I swear it’s not always like this. And you seem like a good guy.”

Louis is a bit stunned. He can normally tell when a guy is interested in him, and he hadn’t gotten that vibe from Niall at all. But now that he thinks about it, Niall is rather cute, and he seems quite nice as well, if a little crude at times. And on slightly shallower note, he hasn’t gotten laid in _forever_. It can’t really hurt to give him a chance, right?

“Uh, yeah sure,” he says to Niall eventually. “Give me your phone and I’ll put it in.” Niall hands it over with a smile, and Louis taps his number in before handing it back.

“I’ll definitely be in touch soon. Thanks for looking out for Harry tonight; he needs good people in his life.”

“Seriously, it was no problem.”

“Alright. Well, see you Louis. Have a good night.”

“You too, Niall. Bye.” Niall gets into the passenger seat of the car, and after a small wave to Louis, he closes the door and the car drives off.

And well.

So that was Louis’ first encounter with Harry Styles. It was interesting, to say the least. Although, Louis realises with a sinking feeling, he didn’t really make much progress in discovering any great scandals about Harry. Nothing that would please Simon, anyway. A celebrity dabbling in cocaine was hardly a groundbreaking story, although it may shock some of the younger members of Harry’s fanbase. The drunken kiss is possibly more scandalous. It would certainly deal a blow to Harry’s heterosexual image. But for some reason Louis doesn’t feel like divulging that part of the night to Simon, or to anyone else for that matter. It feels like something personal and private, and he doesn’t exactly want to see it splashed across two page spreads in the tabloids.

Plus, he has no actual proof. The entire article would be filled with phrases like ‘according to a source’ and ‘allegedly’. The kind of words that make people roll their eyes and dismiss the entire thing as fabricated nonsense. Cowell would definitely want some hard evidence for any wild claims Louis felt like making. It’s probably best not to mention a word about it to Simon until he actually has something substantial to back up his allegations.

Unfortunately, Louis doesn’t actually know when the hell he’s going to actually get the chance to find something out. He barely even spoke to Harry all night. He doubts Harry remembers much of their conversation in the toilets, and he certainly didn’t get Harry’s phone number or arrange a game of golf like Simon was hoping. He supposes he can try again another time, but Louis’ only going to have so many opportunities to coincidentally bump into Harry before he gets suspicious.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans. Cowell’s expecting a full report of the night, and Louis hopes he’s done enough to satisfy his boss, but somehow he doubts it. Simon’s nearly impossible to please on a good day, and he was definitely hoping for a lot from Louis tonight.

Louis’ not sure how much time passes before his bladder reminds him that he still really needs to piss, breaking him out of his contemplative stupor. He makes his way back upstairs to the hotel toilets, before flagging a taxi down outside to head home. It’s been a long night, and he just really wants his bed. He’ll worry about everything in the morning.

 

~*~

 

On Monday, Louis wakes up at seven a.m. to a text from an unknown number. He reaches across to his nightstand, and grabs his phone, blinking to try and clear the sleepy haze from his mind. The message reads ‘ _Hey its Niall here from Sat night. Just wanted t let you know that Harry was fine. He was suffering from a pretty painful headache yesterday but that was about it!’_

Louis immediately saves the number, and taps out a still half-asleep reply.

 **From Louis** : _Good to know mate. I still feel bad for pushin him over. Apologise on my behalf?_

Louis’ waiting on a reply when the phone starts ringing, and the display screen shows Niall calling.

“Hello?” Louis answers, a little bemused.

“Hey, sorry for ringing you, it’s just easier to talk over a phone call, you know?” Niall sounds incredibly chipper considering the early hour, and Louis wonders how long he’s been up.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” says Louis, running a hand over his face.

“Oh god, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry, I didn’t check the time before I rang!”

“It’s okay,” Louis cuts him off. “I was getting up for work soon anyway.” That’s true, but Louis is still silently bemoaning the loss of his extra half hour of sleep.

“I’m still sorry. Listen, Harry wanted to pass on his thanks for what you did for him the other night.”

“Does he even remember any of it?”

“Just bits and pieces, I think. But I filled him in as best I could while I was holding back his hair yesterday morning.”

Louis laughs. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” Niall confirms. “I’ve had the window in the bathroom cracked open since yesterday, and the place _still_ stinks of vomit.”

Louis winces in sympathy. “Do you guys live together then?”

“Oh no, not exactly. I've got a flat of my own, but I tend to hang out at Harry’s a lot. And actually, speaking of Harry’s place, he’s throwing a party there next Friday night...”

“Oh?” says Louis leadingly. He has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“Yeah, it’s just a going away thing really before he heads off on tour and well... He was wondering if you’d like to come?” Niall sounds a little nervous. Louis thinks it’s cute.

“He _was_ , was he?” he teases. “Is this supposed to be a date or something?”

Niall laughs gently. “I guess it is? So are you going to show?”

“Hm. I think my Friday’s free.”

“Excellent! I should warn you though, there’s going to be security. Kind of necessary to stop everyone wandering in, you know? But I’ll make sure you’re on the list, they’ll let you in no problem. Just, um, you’ll have to check your phone at the door.”

Louis’ silent, wondering what kind of party he’s getting himself into.

Niall must interpret his silence the wrong way, because quickly continues, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or that Harry doesn’t. Everyone has to check their phone. It’s just a matter of privacy. Plus it makes for better parties. Everyone lets themselves go a little more when they know a picture isn’t going to pop up in tomorrow’s papers.”

“It’s fine mate, it’s fine. I don’t have a problem with it. Just never been to a party with a bouncer before.”

“Great! I’ll text you the address.”

 

~*~

 

Simon had been delighted when Louis reported that he had been invited to a party at Harry’s, which meant there was absolutely no way Louis was going to be able to back out of going. Which is how he ends up standing outside an apartment in North Kensington, giving his name to a large man named Alberto, and handing over his phone. “I get that back, right?” he asks.

Alberto just smirks, and says, “Alright, you’re on the list. In you go,” before waving him away and turning to the next person in line.

Harry, not wholly unexpectedly, lives the biggest fucking penthouse apartments Louis’ ever seen. Not that he’s admittedly seen that many penthouse apartments. Stepping inside the door, he immediately feels out of place. The flat is awash with minor celebrities dressed in head to toe designer clothing. They all seem to know each other too, fawning all over each other and proclaiming things like “Natalie dear, it’s been too long!” and “I've just come back from L.A. actually, I had to get away to top up my tan.”

Louis stands in the sitting room and watches them all interact for a moment, scanning the sea of faces in the hope of finding anyone he recognises. He desperately wishes he had his phone, just so he could call Niall and ask whereabouts exactly in this fucking massive flat he is. This is a problem he had not foreseen.

He ends up asking the girl who finished sixth in last year’s X Factor where the kitchen is. It’s his best chance of finding some alcohol, so he can drink until he feels less like a sore thumb. He dutifully goes in the direction she points him.

As Louis walks through the flat, he gets to appreciate how big is actually _is_. Bigger than the semi-detached he grew up in back in Doncaster, that’s for sure. It’s even got two floors, he notes, spying the glass staircase at the other side of the sitting room. The entire place seems decorated minimally, with modern pieces of furniture and abstract art. It’s all very sleek, and Louis expected nothing less.

The kitchen is less crowded than the sitting room, giving Louis a chance to get a better look at the décor. It’s all sleek black marble countertops and matching black appliances, with clean white cupboards to contrast. There’s no clutter, no homely touches, except a rather lonely looking orchid. The entire room looks like it’s been taken straight from the pages of an interior design magazine.

“LOU _IIIIIIS_!” comes a voice to his left, and that’s all the warning Louis gets before an arm is being flung over his shoulder and he’s being pulled into a tight hug. “So glad you made it, pal.” The voice is distinctly Irish, and it doesn’t take a lot of deduction on Louis’ part to figure out that he’s found Niall. Or rather, Niall’s found him.

When Niall pulls back, his eyes are bright and faintly bloodshot, and it’s obvious he’s already had a bit to drink. His overzealous greeting may also have given it away.

“Thanks for inviting me, Niall. I normally have to watch all these people on telly; it’s kind of odd being in a room full of them.”

“Yeah, you hang around with Harry long enough you get used to it though.” Niall shrugs.

“Speaking of Harry, where is he?”

“God knows. He does this. Disappears for the night and only emerges when the party’s over. He’s most likely hiding somewhere and ignoring his hosting duties.” He smacks Louis affably on the arm. “Which reminds me! You haven’t got a drink in your hand and you seem stone cold sober, and that just won’t do. Follow me!”

Niall doesn’t really give him must of a choice; he grabs Louis by the arm and pulls him through the kitchen. “The stuff is the kitchen is cheap shit, I’ll show you where the real booze is kept,” Niall tells him, leading him into another room. It’s dark, but Niall finds the light switch and flicks it on.

It seems to be some kind of utility room. Niall drags him over to another fridge and pulls it open. The entire fridge is stacked completely full of cans and bottles of various alcoholic beverages. “Here you go,” he announces proudly. “I keep everything out here so no one steals it. What do you want to drink? Beer? Vodka? Cider?”

“This is all yours?”

“Mine and Harry’s.” He must catch the expression on Louis’ face, because he adds, “It’s not all for tonight or anything. But I like to keep the place stocked up. You know. For emergencies.”

“Niall, what kind of emergencies exactly would require this much alcohol?”

“My kind of emergencies,” Niall replies with a wink. “C’mon, pick what you want.”

Louis ends up pulling out a couple of bottles of beer, and Niall selects a bottle of tequila. “Let’s go back out to the kitchen to find some shot glasses for this, yeah?” he suggests, waving it around. “You need to get a buzz going.”

Louis ends up downing four shots of tequila in a row, scrunching up his nose at the taste, while Niall does three. He wanted to do four too, but Louis stepped in. Someone had to have some consideration for Niall’s liver, and it clearly wasn’t going to be Niall.

“Let’s go to the games room, yeah? I’ll introduce you to some people. Think Olly was in there, last time I saw him.” Niall takes off, wielding the bottle of tequila, and Louis grabs his beer, hurrying to catch up.

“Olly?” he asks.

“Olly Murs. You ever met him?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Great man. Goes golfing with me and Harry sometimes. Do you play?”

“Golf? Hardly, mate. It’s an old man’s sport,” he teases. “Give me football any day.”

The words are only just out of his mouth before Louis starts to kick himself. If he’d pretended to be interested Niall might actually have invited him to join them. Louis curses his own stupidly.

Niall doesn’t seem to notice anything. “Footie, eh?” he questions, “What team?”

“Well I’m from Doncaster, so I've got to support the home team. But other than that, I support Man U.”

Niall scoffs. “Why would you support that bunch of tossers? They’re nothing without Fergie anyway. It’s Derby County all the way.” Before Louis knows it, Niall’s burst out chanting “SHEEP, SHEEP, SHEEP!” at the top of his lungs. Several people join in, but apart from that no one bats an eyelash. Apparently, this is a fairly routine event.

“You’re calling Man U shit, but you support _Derby_? Come on, mate. How does an Irishman even wind up supporting Derby anyway?” Louis asks.

What follows is a complete history of Derby County’s greatest sporting achievements, dating all the way back to the 1970s. Louis would regret asking, but Niall’s actually fascinating to listen to. His eyes light up and his hands gesture wildly whenever he gets particularly passionate of excited. Plus, he doesn’t seem to mind Louis dropping in a sarky aside here and there. In fact, he seems to find it absolutely hilarious, slapping his knee and wiping his eyes after nearly every word Louis says. Louis can’t help but feel a little hero-worshipped. It’s nice. Sue him.

Eventually, Niall finishes his story, ending it with a rant about how McClaren was going to turn Derby County’s fortunes around. Almost before he’s finished the last sentence, he’s glancing across the room and slapping Louis on the arm. “Oh, there’s Greg James! C’mon Louis, Greg’s always up for a drinking game.” He grabs Louis by the hand, and pulls him along behind him.

Louis still may not have actually seen the host around anywhere, but this is turning into a rather fun party.

*

Hours later, Louis finds himself in a room full of strangers, talking to a girl named... Emma? Emily maybe? He can tell his words are slightly slurred, and his head has started to spin a little. Yeah, he’s definitely well on his way to being drunk. He’s feeling the effects of the earlier tequila, and it’s making his thoughts a little fuzzy. He didn’t think he’d even had as much as Niall in the end, but Niall apparently handled his alcohol incredibly well, the fucker. There was maybe some truth to that stereotype about Irish people after all. Louis should’ve known not to try and keep up with him.

Which... Actually, where _is_ Niall?

A quick glance around the room yields no sign of the Irishman, and Louis tries to think. He last he remembers he was talking to him in the sitting room. That wasn’t that long ago, was it?

Louis decides to go look for him, giving Ellie (?) a rather abrupt goodbye. He may have even cut her off mid-sentence, but he can’t really tell. He can’t even remember what they’d been talking about. Her cat, maybe? She’d definitely mentioned something about a cat.

Niall, as it turns out, is not in the sitting room. At least not as far as Louis can see through the crowd of people. Someone has pushed all the sofas back up against the walls, and the place has a dance floor, with bodies packed tightly together. There’s an iPod plugged into a set of speakers, blasting out a playlist of upbeat tunes, and Louis starts itching to dance. He always does when he starts drinking.

Fuck it, Louis’ going to dance.

He works his way somewhere into the middle of the crowd, and finds a group of girls there to dance with. Suddenly, Louis feels hands grasp his hips, and a tall body presses up against him. One of the girls gives him a subtle thumbs up and a wink. Louis turns in the guy’s grip to face him. He looks vaguely familiar, feathered brown hair and too-white teeth. Louis thinks he might recognise him from one of those reality shows his sister loves to watch.

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Hey yourself, gorgeous,” the man smirks. It’s a bit smarmy, but he is very good-looking, and Louis supposes the guy would make an alright dance partner as long as he keeps his mouth shut. His hands are still on Louis’ waist, so Louis puts his arms around his neck and begins to move. The guy soon catches on, and falls quickly into rhythm. The music combined with the movement is making Louis feel drunker, the entire room swaying slightly. Or maybe his last drink is only hitting him properly now.

“What’s your name?” the guy shouts, trying to be heard over the music. Louis absently wonders if Harry will get noise complaints from his neighbours. He also wonders if Harry cares.

“It’s Louis,” he answers. “And you are?”

The man frowns a little. “It’s Marco,” he says, in way that suggests Louis should have already known. Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes, and instead just nods. The dance together for a few more minutes, Louis shutting his eyes and just letting himself go. Marco eventually grabs him by the waist and turns him, so that Louis’ back is to his chest, and oh okay, Louis can deal with this. They grind even closer together, Marco pulling Louis closer so that his hips

“You want to find a room?” Marco whispers in his ear. And well the thing is, Marco may well be sleazy, but Louis’ drunk and he’s horny and he can’t actually remember the last time he got laid. And Marco’s cock is literally pressing into Louis’ arse, so close to where he needs it.

“Um,” Louis starts, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Marco, you fucking arsehole!” screeches a mass of auburn hair, and Louis feels himself being shoved roughly out of Marco’s grasp. He can’t even tell if it was Marco or the newly arrived girl who pushed him, so he levels his glare at the two of them. Not that they see it, neither of them are paying him any attention anymore.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing? Were you going to cheat on me with that fucking slag?” She gestures angrily

“Hey!” Louis protests, but he’s completely ignored.

“No baby, no,” Marco holds up his hands beseeching. “I was just standing here and he just started dancing on me. I don’t fucking know him. I was about to push him away, I swear.”

Louis rolls his eyes, too drunk to care, and definitely not wanting to get involved in the couple’s spat. Marco is clearly a gigantic arsehole anyway, so it’s no great loss. He silently wanders away, the pleads of Marco and the shouts of his girlfriend following him.

The room is swaying a little more than Louis would really like, and he’s pissed off. He needs to air to help him clear his head. And maybe a cigarette, if he can find someone to bum one off. He makes his way towards the balcony, figuring he’ll probably find some smokers out there. It takes him a minute to work out how to open the double doors, but he eventually manages it, and stumbles his way outside. To his surprise, the balcony is deserted apart from two deckchairs and a slightly dead-looking potted plant.

From this high up he can see the lights of the city spread out before him, twinkling as far as the eye can see. London looks spectacular from here, a maze of life and colour, and it makes his breath catch. “Wow,” he breathes.

“Wow what?” comes a voice, deep and husky, making Louis jump about three feet in the air.

“Holy fucking shit!” He turns towards the deckchairs, the source of the voice, palm placed over his rapidly beating heart. Harry Styles’ curly head is poking out over the back of one, large grin on his face. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought there was no one out here.”

“Well you were wrong. What were you saying wow about?”

“I was just admiring the view. It’s incredible.”

Harry shrugs. “I guess. Unless you have something better to look at.” He’s looking at Louis pointedly, and what? Is Louis really fucking drunk or is Harry coming on to him? Before he can say anything in reply however, Harry continues, “You wanna smoke?” He holds up a half-smoked joint.

“Yeah, go on then.” Louis moves to take the second deckchair and Harry passes him the joint. He inhales deeply. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” he grits out, straining to hold the smoke in his lungs. “Not exactly the life of the party right now, mate.”

Harry smiles. “Just wanted to have a smoke. It’s nicer to do it away from all the noise, you know?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of people in there. Niall was dragging me around, introducing me to them all.”

Harry cocks his head. “Did you not know anyone? Almost everyone here tends to run in the same circles. ‘The Young London Scene’ or whatever the papers are calling us. What exactly do you do?”

“Oh, um,” Louis scrambles for an answer. He really should’ve been better prepared. “I’m a writer, actually. Novels and that.” The writer part isn’t exactly a lie, and Louis did always want to write a novel. But once he realised how near impossible it was just to get published, never mind actually being successful enough to make a career from it, he kind of abandoned the idea. Or well. Modified it, into a career in journalism.

“Oh. Anything I’d recognise?” Harry asks then.

“Probably not. I’m kind of small-time.”

Harry doesn’t seem to mind Louis’ evasive answer. He just nods his head slowly, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

“I’m glad you came. Niall said you would but I wasn’t sure.”

“You were hoping I’d show up?” asks Louis.

“Yeah of course. I mean, I wouldn’t have asked Niall to invite you to this party otherwise, would I?”

“Wait. _You_ asked Niall to invite me?”

“Yeah?” Harry cracks his eyes open, He looks bemused. “Why, what did you think?”

“Um, nothing.”

Harry’s grinning now, and Louis feels his cheeks heating up. “Louis,” he teases. “Did you think Niall was asking you out?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he wasn’t?” Louis sulks, folding his arms.

Harry leans over and pinches his cheek. “Niall’s straight, you idiot. Very obviously straight at that.”

Louis frowns. “He’s spent most of the night earlier holding my hand and kissing me on the cheek."

“Yeah, Niall does that,” Harry says simply, with a wave of his hand, like it’s a totally normal thing. Hell, maybe it is. What does Louis know?

“Why’d you want me here anyway?” he wonders, changing the subject.

“Oh. Figured I owed you one. Niall told me you helped sneak me out of the Clarington, and all that. Plus you seemed like a nice guy, even if we didn’t talk that much. And a fantastic kisser, I seemed to think at the time. Although that may have just been the drugs talking.”

“Hey,” Louis says, kicking Harry in the shin. It’s only a light tap really, but Harry still winces, the baby. “I’ll have you know I am a truly excellent kisser.”

“Really?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Yep. I am world-renowned for my kissing skills.” Oh god, that weed has really gone to Louis’ head. He’s already reached the ‘talking shit’ stage.

Harry hums. “How about you show me then?”

Louis blinks, wondering if he could have possibly heard Harry right. But Harry’s looking at him with a challenge in his eye, and Louis could never resist a dare. He leans over to Harry, and Harry grins and leans in too. Louis licks his lips.

And then before Louis knows it they’re kissing. He can’t even tell if it was him or Harry that leaned in that final bit. Harry fists a hand in his hair and pulls him closer, so that Louis is forced to get up out of his seat and shuffle over to him. Harry keeps pulling, dragging Louis down on top of him so that Louis ends up straddling Harry, knees bracketing his thighs.

Harry’s lips are soft as they work against his, and Louis instinctively presses harder into the kiss, pushing deeper. Their tongues meet, curving around each other, and Louis can hardly breathe, hardly _think_. Harry’s hand untangles from Louis’ hair, and both his hands reach around to cup Louis’ ass. Louis moans at the touch, pressing his hips down.

“Shit, Lou,” Harry hisses, moving his mouth down to Louis’ neck. Louis’ still a bit worked up from his encounter with Marco, and it doesn’t take much more to get his dick twitching in his pants. Louis needs it; he needs the friction, his hips grinding down on Harry’s involuntarily. Harry responds instantly, bucking his own hips up in rhythm with Louis, and Louis can feel Harry’s hard, knows he is too.

Harry mouth meets his again, kissing hotly. His hand snakes around from Louis’ bum, and starts palming Louis’ erection, his mouth swallowing Louis’ moans.

His fingers have just started fiddling with the button in Louis’ jeans, when the sound of the balcony door opening cuts through Louis’ haze of lust. He springs back, clambering clumsily off Harry and standing up. Two girls walk out onto the balcony, laughing and clutching as-of-yet unlit cigarettes. They haven’t noticed Louis and Harry yet, thankfully. Harry’s a state, curls mussed up and lips red and swollen, and Louis doubts he looks any better.

Louis’ desperately trying to smooth out his hair and clothes and make himself look somewhat less ravaged when Harry finally stands up, and his movement catches the girls’ eyes. “Harry, darling,” one of them squeals excitedly. “I haven’t seen you all night!”

“I’m very sorry, my dear,” Harry says. He only sounds slightly breathless. “I actually can’t stay and chat, though. I've got to... show Louis something. Upstairs.” Wow, Harry is a shit liar.

“Oh okay!” the girl replies. Thankfully both ladies appear a bit tipsy, which not only helps them accept Harry’s terrible excuses, but also means that both Louis and Harry’s erections seem to have escaped their notice.

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry urges, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ wrist and tugging. It hits Louis then that Harry has extremely long, supple fingers, and he can’t help the little sound that escapes him. His cheeks immediately redden once he realises what he did, and Harry gives him a puzzled look, but makes no comment.

Louis feels like there’s a fog in his mind, and he only vaguely registers Harry dragging him from the balcony and into the apartment. The two hurry past various groups of revellers, some of them calling to Harry. He doesn’t stop though, just waves them off easily, Louis following close behind as they head up the stairs.

Harry stops at one particular door, fumbling through his pockets until he pulls out a key. He unlocks the door quickly and heads inside, pulling Louis with him, before locking it again. The room is dark, and Louis struggles to see until Harry flicks a switch.

And wow, the room is gigantic. And decorated in the incredibly chic, minimalistic style as the rest of the flat. It’s… shit; it’s the bedroom of a proper celebrity, isn’t it?

Louis doesn’t really get a chance to think about it any further because Harry pulls him close and kisses him hard, picking up right where they left off on the balcony. He can feel Harry’s hands pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he lifts his arms up obligingly, breaking the kiss to let Harry tug it off over his head. Harry does the same with his own, while Louis gets to work on his jeans.

He manages to get his pants off quickly, leaving him in just his underpants. Harry has a bit more trouble with his, having to peel his skinny jeans down his legs. It looks comical, and Louis would laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry isn’t exactly wearing any underpants underneath them. Harry eventually manages to squirm out of him jeans, and in the next moment he’s standing before Louis, completely naked. His cock is flushed and more than half-hard, lying heavily against his thigh and Louis is blatantly staring, but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away.

“Nice cock,” he blurts, brain-to-mouth filter apparently on the blink. And then, just in case he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough, “It’s fucking huge.” Harry laughs, deep and throaty.

He moves closer to Louis, pressing them together and leaning his face in close. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over Louis’ face, before he meets Louis in a kiss. Harry’s hands grab at Louis’ waist, digging into the flesh, and he starts walking Louis backwards. The backs of Louis’ legs hit against Harry’s bed, and Harry grips him by the thighs, picking him up slightly before manoeuvring him back down on the mattress. Harry climbs on top of him so that his entire body is covering Louis’, weight heavy on top of him. He kisses Louis and Louis can do nothing only kiss him back, pinned to the bed, surrounded by _Harry_.

Harry’s lips move to Louis’ neck, biting and sucking in tiny bruises wherever he chooses to linger and causing little pinpricks of both pain and pleasure. The bruises will be hard to hide tomorrow, but Louis doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything right now. Harry’s moves down Louis’ body, mouthing around his nipples, sucking on the skin around one, while his fingers come up to pinch the other. Louis’ dick is so hard, it has been for ages, and he pushes it up into Harry’s hip, trying to divert his attention to where he needs it most.

He can feel Harry smile into his chin, and then Harry kneels back to pull Louis’ underwear off, letting his dick spring free.  “You’re beautiful,” Harry says, looking down at Louis. “Every part of you.”

“Fuck,” Louis grunts, then sits up some he can put a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pull him back down on top of him. There cocks rub together, as Louis hears Harry gasp and rut down on him.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis moans at the friction. “Want you so bad. Want you inside of me.”

“Shit, yeah,” Harry hisses, and then he’s fumbling with his bedside locker, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Louis spreads his legs, feeling like he can barely breathe, as Harry slicks up his fingers. It’s been so horribly long since Louis’ been with another guy, and he just wants to feel Harry.

Luckily Harry wastes no time. He kisses Louis softly, as one of his fingers trails down Louis’ arse crack and then rubs over his hole. Louis whines, and tries to push his arse down on Harry’s finger, making Harry smile into his mouth. “I've got you,” he whispers, before his finger finally breaches Louis’ rim and pushes in.

His pumps his finger in and out, still kissing Louis. Louis can feel his finger moving, searching inside him, and then—

“Fuck, Harry! There, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” asks Harry, pressing his finger back into that spot. Louis just moans, his mouth going lax even as Harry moves his lips against his. “Can you take another?”

Louis nods vehemently, and then there’s a second finger nudging at his rim and pushing into him. Harry pumps them for a while, teasingly avoiding Louis’ spot, and then he scissors them experimentally. “Shit, you’re tight,” he mutters.

“It’s gonna feel good when you fuck me,” Louis tells him, because he’s drunk and he’s horny, and he wants Harry in him _now_. Harry kisses Louis with fervour, grinding his thick erection down on Louis’ thigh, clearly affected by Louis’ words, but he does the responsible thing and keeps stretching Louis for a while longer.

“That’s enough, I’m ready, I’m ready,” Louis babbles eventually. “Please Harry, I want your cock.”

“I might hurt you...”

“Fucking get in me!” Louis shouts in frustration.

It seems to do the job, because Harry starts tearing open the condom packet and rolling it on. He lubes his cock up, and then lines it up against Louis’ hole. “Sure you’re ready?” he asks.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Harry—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Harry starts pushing in. Fuck, he’s big. It’s definitely a stretch, and Louis can feel his rim burn as it widens around Harry.  Even with his mind hazy from weed and alcohol, it hurts. “Fuck, wait,” he says, placing his hands on Harry’s chest. “Just give me a sec.”

“Told you,” says Harry, but his voice is strained. Louis can tell it’s taking some effort for him to remain still.

“Is now really the time for told-you-sos?” Louis responds. He shifts his hips slightly, checking how he feels. Harry’s body twitches a little, but otherwise he doesn’t move. “I think I’m good,” Louis says finally. “You can move. Just... go slow.”

Harry nods, and continues pushing in until he’s buried completely inside Louis. He follows Louis’ direction, thrusting shallowly for a little while, letting Louis get used to him. He kisses Louis’ neck, biting and sucking the skin there, and Louis feels shivers travel down his entire body.

“Go faster,” he gasps out, and Harry obeys easily. Louis’ head is spinning, and he clings to Harry, digging his fingers into the other man’s back. Harry groans, but it sounds more from pleasure than from pain. Louis throws his head back and shuts his eyes as Harry pounds into him. Little sparks of pleasure jolt through him every time Harry hits his prostate, making him exhale short, breathy whines.

“Harry, please. There, please,” Louis begs as heat begins to build in his belly. His vision is blurry, lights dancing in front of his eyes as Harry pushes into him again and again.

“Are you close?” Harry asks, snaking a hand down between them to circle Louis’ cock. Louis moans at his touch, nodding frantically.

“So, so close. Please.”

He barely even knows what he’s asking Harry for, but Harry shushes him with an “I’ve got you, baby,” and starts moving his fist up and down Louis’ length in tight, quick strokes. It only takes a few pulls before Louis’ coming, gasping and shuddering as he spills onto himself.

Harry’s voice filters through Louis’ hazy thoughts, murmuring “that’” in his ear. Harry thrusts hard a few more times, before groaning loudly and collapsing on top of Louis.

They both lie there in for a while, they only sounds coming from their harsh breathing as they try to catch their breath. Harry presses small kisses against Louis’ chest in between exhales, and Louis feels heavy, so heavy, like he could sink right through the mattress. His eyes flutter shut unbidden.

“Are you falling asleep?” Harry asks, and Louis just grunts in response. Forming actual words requires too much effort.

Suddenly Harry’s weight is gone, the cold air rushing in to take his place. Louis whines unhappily and opens his eyes. “You’re such a baby,” Harry tells him, sounding amused. “You can sleep in a minute. Just lemme clean you up a bit first.” He wipes Louis down with some tissues, discarding them in a small wastepaper bin in the corner of the room.

“C’mere,” Louis motions, opening his arms, and Harry smiles before settling down beside him. He pulls the covers up over them, giving Louis a quick kiss on the lips, before turning around and pressing his back against Louis’ chest. Louis nuzzles into his back, holding him tightly. Outside, the noise of the party blares, still in full swing, but Louis barely hears it, already halfway to sleep.

*

Louis wakes up early the next morning, his mouth so dry he can barely even swallow. Turning in the bed, he sees a mass of brown curls peeking out above the covers. So that wasn’t a weed-fuelled dream then. He definitely had sex with Harry Styles last night.

He should probably be having some kind of reaction to that fact, but frankly Louis’ head is hurting too much for him to really bother thinking about it. Shuffling out of the bed, he finds his boxers discarded on the floor, and pulls them on. Despite the fact that his body is protesting about every movement, he makes his way downstairs and heads to the kitchen in search of water.

The kitchen is completely spotless when Louis walks in, bulging black bin bags lined up against the wall are the only sign that the party ever even happened. Clearly, the cleaning crews have been busy. Louis grabs a glass of water and sits down at the kitchen table to drink it. There's a brown envelope on the table, with _'Louis'_ scrawled across it in messy handwriting. Figuring there probably aren't any other Louis' around that it could be referring to, he shrugs and rips it open. Inside he finds his phone, and a note that reads:

_Got your phone back from Alberto for you. Hope you had a good night ;) - Niall_

Louis sips his water and as he finally begins to feel better, he contemplates the events of last night. He can hardly even wrap his head around what happened. He just had sex with Harry Styles. Actual Harry Styles.

Louis doesn’t do one-night stands often, but he’s no stranger to them either. The implications of this particular shag however are a little more far-reaching than most. Harry’s _straight_ , or at least he’s supposed to be. But last night, he had seemed rather confident in bed with another guy. It definitely didn’t seem like a fumbled one-night experiment to Louis. Especially not combined the fact that Harry had kissed him the night they first met. Sure he’d been drunk that night, and a little high, but still…

One thing’s for certain though. Whatever Harry’s sexuality is, after last night Louis can be pretty sure it’s not exactly straight.

Which brings him to a dilemma. The whole reason he’s even sitting in Harry’s kitchen right now is because of Simon and the story he wants Louis to do. On one hand, outing one of the UK’s biggest pop stars would be a scoop, and Simon would definitely be delighted. But on the other hand… the thought actually outing Harry makes Louis’ skin itch in an unpleasant, uncomfortable way.

Louis’ own coming out wasn’t as traumatic as it could have been, but neither was it a walk in the park. The initial outing was admittedly a bit rocky, but after that Louis had the opportunity to come out at his own pace, to a select group of people of his own choosing. Forcing someone out of the closet, stripping them of their choice, and leaving them to be analysed and judged, not only by family and friends, but by fans and media outlets the world over, is one of the most horrible things Louis can imagine. There’s no way he could do it.

Even if he did decide to out Harry, he’d need some kind of proof. All he can think of doing is creeping upstairs now and take a few compromising pictures of Harry while he’s sleeping, but that seems far too deceitful. Louis doesn’t really want to contribute to that stereotype of immoral journalists.

Plus, there’s something about Harry. It was easy, having an opinion on him when he’d only known the things he’d read in the media. The things his own colleagues had been writing. But actually meeting Harry in person, on two separate occasions, had given him a different impression. Instead of the wild party boy Louis had expected, Harry had actually seemed kind of... lonely.

He had been so detached for everyone else. From the guests at his own party. He’d sat outside on his own, and had barely spoken a word to anyone. Except Louis, of course. The thought makes a small spark of pleasure run down Louis’ back.

Louis still can’t believe he’d slept with Harry. It feels like a dream, the alcohol and weed giving last night a surreal edge. If he hadn’t have woken up naked next to him, bum still slightly aching, Louis would have been seriously doubting he’d had sex with him at all.

But, it is real. It happened, and, _fuck_ , Louis doesn’t know what to do. It’s starting to sink in how complicated he’s just made life for himself. He’s almost entirely resolved to keep last night to himself, to not out Harry, but Simon still expects a story. Something big and scandalous that could irreparably damage Harry’s reputation.

Harry that he just had sex with.

Louis groans and checks the time on the phone. It's still stupidly early, and he’s far too hungover to be worrying about his problems right now. And in all honesty Louis doesn't think his stomach is quite up to the tube ride home just yet. With that thought in mind, he heads upstairs and crawls back into bed with a still-sleeping Harry.

*

The next time Louis wakes up he's all alone and thankfully feeling slightly less like death incarnated. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he checks the time. 11:30. Hauling himself out of bed, he finds his clothes folded neatly on an armchair in the middle of the room. He gets dressed quickly and pockets his phone, heading down the stairs.

The smell of a fry up hits him as he walks toward the kitchen, and when he wanders in he finds Harry hunched over the hob, a sizzling pan in front of him. He's shirtless, but he's pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and Louis can't help but admire the way they hang off his hips.

“What's all this then?” asks Louis, and Harry's head whips up, slightly startled at Louis' presence. “Didn't peg you for a domestic goddess, Styles.”

Harry gives a soft laugh. “I was about to go wake you up. I'm making breakfast if you’re up for it.” Harry's voice is especially deep and gravelly, and it sends a little thrill down Louis' spine.

“Yeah, think my stomach’s settled back down. Breakfast would be lovely.”

Harry smiles. “I’m almost done here. You could make some tea if you want? Or coffee? The tea and coffee’s over by the kettle, and there’s cups in that press there.” Harry makes a vague gesture over at one of the kitchen cabinets.

“Sure, you want a cup?” Louis asks.

“Tea, please,” Harry confirms, and Louis grabs two cups from the press. The water in the kettle is warm, clearly just boiled, so Louis just pours it in on top of a teabag. He stirs the teabags in the cup, before searching for the bin to discard them. Harry meanwhile is plating up, and it smells so good Louis can feel his stomach grumbling in spite of its delicate state this morning.

Harry brings the plates over to the table, and Louis follows behind him with their cups of tea. Harry gestures at Louis to sit, placing the plate of food, a full fry-up with beans, on the table in front of him. Louis thanks him and passes him a cup and then Harry takes a seat himself. It all feels strangely domestic, like they’ve been carrying out the same routine for years.

“Thanks for making me breakfast. You didn’t have to.”

Harry waves his comment off. “Don’t be silly. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t?”

“What time did everyone leave, do you know?”

“I’m not sure; I was out like a log. But Alberto normally kicks the last stragglers out before five to give the cleaners a chance to clean the place up a bit.”

Louis nods like he gets it, but in reality it’s worlds away from the parties Louis’ used to, the ones that take a week to clean up after, that leave questionable stains on the walls and broken glass embedded in the floor. It’s a stark reminder of who Harry is, of the kind of life he leads.

“Have you got any plans for today?” Harry asks him as they tuck into breakfast.

“Not really. I was just going to head home and nurse this hangover.”

“You can stay if you like,” Harry says, sounding strangely hopeful. “I wanted to have a talk with you about something anyway.”

“A talk? Sounds ominous.” Louis shifts in his chair, a small spike of unease running down his spine. Maybe Harry suspects something. Oh god, what if he’s figured out Louis’ a journalist?

Harry holds up his hands placatingly, obviously having picked up on Louis’ mild distress. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise! I just want to... explain a few things. And maybe ask you something too.”

“Ask me what?” Louis has never been good at reigning in his curiosity.

Frustratingly Harry just smiles, and tells him, “Eat your breakfast.”

They end up on the sofa after breakfast, and Harry puts on Monsters Inc., throwing a blanket at Louis. Louis admires his perfect hangover etiquette. Curling up on the couch and watching a mindless film is all Louis feels up to right about now, and he couldn’t be happier that Harry seems to be on the same wavelength.

Harry sits down at the opposite end of the sofa, but he keeps tossing Louis hopeful looks, so eventually Louis bites the bullet. “Any chance you wanna cuddle?” Harry just grins widely and opens his arms in response. Louis crawls over the couch and ends up with his back pressed against Harry’s front, the blanket spread to cover them both.

Louis tries to let himself get immersed in the film, but conversation Harry wants to have is still weighing on his mind. He doesn’t have a clue what Harry wants to speak to him about. They hardly even _know_ each other. Harry’s adorable though, doing cute little impressions of Boo, and randomly shouting “Mike Wazowski” in a childish voice at the top of his lungs, and Louis can’t make himself bring the topic up.

Instead he finds himself giggling with Harry, reminiscing about the time he took Lottie to the cinema to see Monsters, Inc. “She ate so much fizzy cola bottles, she ended up being sick all over one of the seats. And I panicked, see? Mum had only given me enough money to pay for me and Lottie’s tickets and a few snacks. I was afraid they were going to hit me with a cleaning bill, and have me arrested after they figured out I couldn’t pay. So I made Lottie sneak out with sick all down her. She had to get the bus like that too.” Harry’s laughing too much to make any sort of comment, so Louis just finishes his story with “I was actually too scared to go back to that cinema after that. I used to have to go to the one on the other side of town.”

“You’re poor little sister!” Harry exclaims, laughing.

“I know, I know. I’ll never forget her little face sitting on the bus, and the looks everyone else gave her when they caught a whiff of her.” Harry’s cackling outright now, and Louis is too, both boys helpless with it.

Harry recovers first, in the end, turning to Louis with a decidedly more serious look on his face. Louis feels that small fizz of panic again the second he catches sight of his expression. “Um, so Louis,” Harry begins, “Last night was fun, yes?”

Louis frowns, unsure of where this is going. “Oh god, are you one of those insecure guys who needs to be told five hundred times that sleeping with them wasn’t a completely horrible experience?”

“Hardly,” Harry snorts. “I heard the noises you were making last night. You can’t tell me those were faked.”

Louis blushes, but manages a shrug and a, “You were alright, I guess.” It’s worth it just to see the indignation on Harry’s face.

“Heyyyy,” Harry pouts, and he actually seems genuinely offended, “I was better than alright and you know it.” Then he glances down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers, his entire demeanour suddenly taking on a nervous edge. “And well actually, I was wondering if you maybe might like a repeat performance?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... Look, I know I have some kind of reputation as a _ladies man_ ,” Harry says, disdain clearly evident, “and part of that is definitely deliberate, but think it’s kind of obvious at this point I’m not exactly straight.”

“Yeah, I think I may have noticed,” Louis interjects.

Harry glowers at him, but otherwise continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “The truth is, I like girls, and I _am_ attracted to them. But maybe not as attracted as the newspapers would have you believe. And maybe not as attracted to them as often as I am to men. At least not initially.”

“So what then? You’re gay? Bisexual?”

Harry rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “I’m not really all that sure, I'm still trying to figure that part out. I guess there have been the odd women here and there that I've been genuinely interested in, but it's always been less to do with the fact they were women and more to do with who they were as people. About how they made me feel. But when it comes down to that superficial attraction... it’s mainly just been guys, to be honest.”

“Oh. So um, what does that have to do with me?”

“Well speaking of attraction, after we spoke at the Clarington, I couldn’t stop looking at you. I kept trying to think up some excuse to go over and talk to you again, but Niall insisted I do the rounds, speak to everyone, you know how it is. And then I ended up losing track of you. I thought you might have left. When I met up with you in the toilets later, I don’t remember much, but I remember thinking it might be fate.”

Louis snorts. “Mate, I think that may have been the drugs talking.”

Harry sighs exasperatedly, but he’s smiling too. “Look, the point is, I’m attracted to you. And last night was fun. I’m not looking for anything too long-term but… I’d like to do it again. Maybe keep doing it. As some kind of… unofficial arrangement.”

Louis tries to grasp the situation. “So you want us to be fuck buddies?”

Harry’s mouth scrunches up in distaste. “I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that. But I guess.”

“But why? I mean, you’re hot, you’re rich, you’re famous. If you want sex you could pick up a guy in five seconds flat.”

“Yeah, not really. Like I said, the whole ‘womaniser’ image is there for a reason. My management and my label don’t really want the world to find out that I’m attracted to guys. At least not yet, not while I’m still trying to build up my career. And the more people that get involved, the greater the possibility that someone somewhere will find out. I can’t risk it.”

Louis’ silent for a moment. He guesses he can see Harry’s point. As awful as it is, a lot of industries still have homophobia embedded deep within them. Things are changing but a lot of radio stations won’t play music by gay artists, Louis knows, or some people refuse to buy their music.

Still, Louis has questions. “What the hell do you think is going to stop me from running to the press?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not going to make me sign anything, are you?”

Harry sits up straighter on the sofa. “Look Louis, you could’ve gone to the press already if you wanted, just about what happened at the charity gala. I was doing coke in the toilets. I kissed you. You had to help Niall sneak me out of the building because I was so out of it. I mean, that’s enough right there for a pretty damaging story. But you never said a word. Plus, you seemed like a nice guy when we spoke at the bar. Niall thought so too.”

“So…” Louis trails off.

“I don’t want you to sign anything,” Harry confirms. “That would mean getting my management and lawyers involved, and I don’t want that. I don’t think you do either.”

Louis’ stunned. Considering he’s in the process of trying to dig up a significant amount of dirt on Harry, this is a rather incredible windfall.

On the other hand, it’s an enormous breach of trust. And Louis would have to compromise every single one of his morals. He’d be sleeping with someone for a story, what would that make him? Sure, he’d slept with Harry last night, but he was kind of hoping he could just chalk the whole thing up as a drunken mistake. To knowingly sleep with Harry in order to gather information on him was an entirely different thing.

“Uh, can I think about it?” Louis asks hesitantly.

Harry looks a little disappointed, just for a brief second, before he smiles politely. “Sure.”

For some stupid reason Harry’s expression makes Louis feel the need to elaborate. “It’s just... I've never done this friends-with-benefits type thing before. God, even one-night stands are a rarity for me.” Louis explains. “I've always been a relationship kind of guy. What you’re asking is a little out of my comfort zone.” And it’s the truth, even if it’s not entirely the reason Louis’ hesitating.

It seems to have made Harry feel a little better though. His smile is more genuine now. “It’s fine, Louis. I get it. I’m actually heading to the US in a few days, to play a few gigs and do a short radio tour. Just to promote my latest album over there a bit. But I’ll be back in about a fortnight, if you want to take that long to think about it?”

Louis is silent for a moment, still contemplating. He shuts his eyes, trying to think. He’s already slept with Harry and it was incredible. He definitely wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. But he’d be _using_ Harry, and that thought makes him decidedly uncomfortable.

 _Harry would be using you too_ , a voice in the back of his head tells him. _And it’s just sex. Not a big deal. It’s not like a relationship. You’re not committing to him, promising him anything_.

“I know you’re unsure about this, Louis,” Harry starts. Louis glances up, startled to see that he’s moved closer. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Harry’s voice lowers a little, in an obvious attempt at sounding seductive, and he places a hand on Louis’ thigh. “But you know, sometimes it pays to take a risk.”

Under normal circumstances Louis would roll his eyes at Harry’s words, but he finds himself annoyingly affected by Harry’s ploy. He swallows heavily and Harry’s eyes trace the movement. They’re both silent for a moment, the atmosphere in the room suddenly becoming thicker. Louis can’t help it, his eyes trail down to Harry’s lips, catching the moment when Harry’s tongue snakes out to wet them.

Louis’ so busy staring at Harry’s mouth that at first he doesn’t realise Harry has started to shift even closer until he feels Harry’s hot breath ghosting over his face. Harry leans in so that their foreheads are almost touching and Louis’ eyes flutter closed automatically. However, instead of a pair of lips meeting his, Harry’s breath ghosts across his cheekbone, and then he whispers in Louis’ ear.

“Promise me you’ll think about it.”

And well. Even though he knows what Harry’s doing, he still has to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“I’ll think about it,” he agrees, voice only cracking slightly.

And if Louis leaves Harry’s house moments later with Harry’s phone number in his pocket and with a semi threatening to tent his jeans then nobody has to know.

 

~*~

 

Like any time when he’s needed advice, Louis ends up outside of Zayn and Liam’s flat. He raps on the door loudly to the tune of Bad Touch. He manages to get a third of the way through the song before the door is opened by a slightly disgruntled Zayn.

“What are you doing here?” is Zayn’s greeting. “I normally don’t have to put up with your face on the weekends.”

“Shut up, Zayn. You say that to me every weekend, you need to get a new joke.  Now let me in, I’m having a dilemma.”

Zayn stands back to let him enter. “You want a cup of tea?”

Louis just looks at him flatly. “You know I do. Why’d you even have to ask. Li in the living room?” He doesn’t wait for Zayn’s answer; he just heads inside to where Liam, rather predictably, is watching football on the telly. Louis throws himself down on the couch beside him.

“You alright, Lou?”

“No Liam,” Louis sighs heavily, “I am not.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

“Wait ‘til Zayn gets in here. You know I hate repeating myself.”

Liam scoffs. “You love repeating yourself. You love anything that involves hearing yourself speak.”

Before Louis can reply, Zayn comes in carrying three cups of tea and a packet of biscuits. He’s become sickeningly domesticated since he started living with Liam, and it makes Louis feel a small stab of _something_ in his gut.

“Custard creams, Zayn? Really?”

“I like them,” Zayn defends. Louis just shakes his head, disapproving.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “What’s this dilemma then, Lou?” he asks, taking a seat.

“Right. Okay. Well you know that party I went to on Friday night? The one at Harry Styles’ house?”  Both Zayn and Liam nod. “Well it may have gone a little differently than I was expecting.”

Zayn’s brow furrows. “He didn’t find out you’re a journalist did he?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just... I may have slept with him.” Louis finishes the last part of the sentence in a hurried whisper.

“Louis!” Liam exclaims.

“It’s not my fault!” Louis wails. “You know how I get when I drink.”

“Louis, this is so bad.”

“I know! But, um, there’s more.”

“Oh Louis.” Zayn’s got his head in his hands, and he seems resigned to whatever’s coming.

“Well the next morning, he asked if maybe we could make it a regular thing. The sleeping together in secret, that is.”

Zayn furrows his brow. “So is he gay, then?”

Louis shrugs. “He’s not sure apparently, but he seems to have preference for guys it sounded like from his explanation. Which is why he wants us to sleep together.  He hasn’t found a girl he’s attracted to in a while, and he’s horny as fuck.”

“Well there’s your exclusive right there,” says Liam. “Harry Styles likes men. I’m pretty sure that would be headline-worthy.”

“I've thought about it, Liam, but how I am supposed to out him to the whole world? Coming out is hard even under the best of circumstances, you know that. I can’t be the one responsible for forcing Harry out of the closet. I’m not writing that particular story. I can’t.”

“I agree with you, Lou,” Zayn puts in quietly. Zayn had told Louis about his own coming out over a joint once. Apparently it hadn’t been pretty, and while Zayn’s immediate family support him, there are still members of his extended family that refuse to even acknowledge his existence.

Louis sighs. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? If I turn down Harry’s offer, then he probably won’t want to speak to me again, because who the hell wants to hang out with the person who rejected them? And then how am I supposed to get close enough to find out something for a story? But if I start sleeping with him, I can’t really write a story either, can I? I mean, morally, that’s... I’m fucked either way. Oh my god, Simon’s going to kill me!”

“Oh Louis.”

“And the worst part is that Harry is actually really nice? Like he made me breakfast the next morning, and we watched some movies and he told stupid jokes, and it was all just... nice. He’s nothing like what I expected; he’s not an arsehole at all, at least not from what I've seen.”

“Do you like him, Louis? As in _like_ like him?” asks Liam, because apparently he’s twelve years old.

“I’m not fucking in love with him, Liam, I've met him twice,” Louis scoffs. “I’m just attracted to him. You’ve seen his face; it’s hard not to be attracted to that! And unfortunately his personality is doing nothing to put me off. I definitely wouldn’t mind sleeping with him under normal circumstances...”

“Only you would get yourself into these situations, I swear,” Zayn muses, putting his head in his hands.

Liam’s frowning. “Really, Louis, why don’t you just tell Simon you can’t do the story? You’re obviously not comfortable with it. I’m sure Simon would understand if you just explained the situation to him.”

“He wouldn’t,” both Louis and Zayn answer in unison.

“Liam, babe, when I tell you Cowell’s an asshole, I mean it,” Zayn says. “He doesn’t really understand things like ethics and moral boundaries. In his world, money is the only thing that talks.”

“I’m fucked, I’m so fucked,” Louis groans miserably.

“Literally,” Zayn smirks. Louis throws a cushion at him.

“Be more helpful, Malik! I need you to tell me what to do!”

“Maybe you don’t have to do anything,” Liam suggests.

“What does that mean?”

“You can just get closer to Harry like Cowell wants, and see what you can find out. But, look, you seem pretty convinced that Harry’s a nice guy. And you said yourself he’s nothing like what you expected.  I know Cowell’s convinced that Harry’s hiding some dark secret, but maybe there really is nothing there?  Simon can hardly be mad at you for not writing a story if there is no story to write.”

“That’s a big if. And he is hiding something,” Louis points out. “His sexuality.”

“But you can’t write about that.”

“Right,” Louis confirms.

“Okay, how about this,” Zayn says. “Maybe there _is_ some big secret, some reason Harry doesn’t talk to his family or whatever. If you find it out, it’s possible you could write the story in a positive way. Make the reader sympathetic towards Harry. Simon would probably be satisfied as long as it’s enough to get people talking. You’d still be betraying Harry’s trust, and he’ll probably still be pretty pissed off with you, but it’s the only way I see you getting out of this with both your career and your ability to sleep at night intact.”

Louis mulls over Zayn’s words for a moment. “That could work... I’d still feel like shit, but I’d think I be able to live with it. Maybe I could send Harry a fruit basket afterwards or something to apologise.” It’d have to be an incredibly positive article if there was any hope of Harry not hating his guts afterwards.

He sits back in the chair and stares up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m considering sleeping with someone for a story... This is not how I expected my career in journalism would go.”

“I’ll tell you what, mate, you’re making me really glad I went into television rather than showbiz,” says Zayn, giving him a commiserative pat on the knee.

“Hey, Zee? You happen to have anything stronger than tea in this place. I think I need it.”

“I’ll get the beer,” Liam answers, standing up. “Zayn can order in some pizza.”

Louis tosses them both an appreciative smile. He has the best friends.

 

~*~

 

Harry texts him two weeks later on a Saturday morning. Louis’ been keeping track of his schedule, and he knows the last concert he had in North America was on Thursday night. Which means he’s probably back in the UK and he finally wants a decision from Louis.

 **From Harry** : _So have you made up your mind yet? xx_

Louis hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath and replies.

 **To Harry** : _I’m in_.

Louis’s thumb hovers over the send button for a moment before he finally presses it. He feels a strange relief as he watches the status change from sending to sent, like a small weight has been lifted from his shoulders. His decision’s made; he’s going to do this.

 **From Harry** : _:)_

**From Harry** _: Are you free tonight? xx_

**From Harry** : _You could come over to mine? I’ll make you dinner. xx_

 **To Harry** : _I won’t say no to a free meal. What time?x_

 **From Harry** : _Around 7 ok? Xx_

 **To Harry** : _Perfect x_

And shit.

Louis’ got a date with Harry Styles. A date that is almost guaranteed to end in sex. Mind-blowing sex, if the last time is anything to go by. His hands are shaking slightly, but whether from fear or anticipation he doesn’t even know.

*

Louis takes the tube to Harry’s, his leg jittering nervously the entire way there. He’d picked up a bottle of red wine in the offy beforehand, and he’s clutching it tightly, afraid his sweaty palms might make him drop it. God, he doesn’t even _like_ red, but it was largely a panic purchase brought on by the fact that Louis has no fucking clue what someone is supposed to bring to what is essentially a booty call. He’s never really done anything like this before. But if Harry’s making dinner then Louis has to bring _something_ , right?

When Louis gets to Harry’s he raps on the door, Alberto thankfully nowhere in sight. Louis is sure the bodyguard was _lovely_ and everything, but he’s nervous enough as it is, and he can do without the intimidation at the doorstep.

When Harry answers the door, all possibility of Louis being intimidated flies out the window, because Harry has his hair tied up in a tiny little bun, and he’s wearing an apron. An actual apron. And really, not just any apron, but one covered in tiny purple and pink flowers, with matching lilac lace trimming around the edges.

Louis can’t help it, he bursts into laughter. “What the fuck are you _wearing_ , Styles?”

Harry looks down at himself, then back up at Louis, giving him a vaguely affronted look. “This?” he asks, gesturing to the apron, as if there could be anything else Louis was talking about. “It was a present from Niall,” he explains quite seriously. “Because he knows I like to bake.”

There are tears forming in Louis’ eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he squeaks out through his giggles.

Harry’s pouting, but Louis can tell he’s fighting a smile. “Well, I was going to tell you that you look gorgeous, but now I’m not really sure if you deserve any compliments.”

Louis’ laughing too hard to even care. Harry rolls his eyes. “C’mon then,” he instructs, standing back from the door to let Louis in. “Better get you inside before the neighbours come over to ask why there’s a hyena being murdered on my doorstep.”

Louis eventually calms down, wiping at his eyes. Harry divulges Louis of his wine and jacket, and leads him into kitchen. “I’m making pasta, and I don’t want to get any sauce on me,” he tells Louis, explaining the apron.

The kitchen smells incredible, and it’s clear Harry’s put in an awful lot of effort. Most of the heavenly aromas are coming from a lightly bubbling pot of creamy white sauce.

“God, what is that?” asks Louis. “It smells so good.”

“It’s carbonara,” Harry says, tone implying Louis should have known. “I’m making it with chicken and pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Louis repeats. “Very fancy.”

“It’s really not that fancy, Lou. Have you never had it before?”

“Hardly. I don’t exactly cook myself, unless baked beans on toast counts as cooking. Definitely wouldn’t be up for trying someone this complicated.”

Harry laughs. “You can buy the sauce in a packet, you know. And then basically all you have to do is just heat it up. Not this though,” he says, giving the sauce a quick stir. “This is all homemade from scratch.”

“I believe you,” Louis tells him, unable to keep a smile from his face.

“Would you like a drink? I could open the wine you brought?”

“Um, actually, I’d prefer a beer to start, if you have any.”

“’Course I do. Hold on.” Harry leaves, wandering out into the back-kitchen where Louis belatedly recalls there’s a fridge dedicated entirely to alcohol.

Harry comes back in before long with the necks of four beer bottles all clasped between his fingers. His incredibly long fingers... Louis has to swallow past a lump in his throat and wrench his eyes away.

“Here you go,” Harry offers him a beer once he’s managed to pop the cap off with a bottle opener. “Dinner should only be ten more minutes.  I hope you’re hungry because I made loads.”

“I can’t wait,” Louis admits. “It smells delicious.”

Harry smiles softly at that, then busies himself setting the table. Louis would try to help, but he has no idea where in all the many, many cupboards and drawers in Harry keeps his plates and cutlery. Harry seems to be managing fine anyway, humming away happily as he lines up knives and forks. It’s weird, Louis thinks, that Harry looks so in his element here, swanning around his kitchen in a frilly floral apron. Louis can’t wrap his mind around the fact that this is the same boy who’s portrayed in the media as a notorious hard-partier, famous in most people’s minds more for his womanising and heavy drinking than he is for his music.

After Harry has dished up the food and finally taken off that ridiculous apron, they take their seats. Harry insists on pulling out Louis’ chair for him and even though Louis rolls his eyes and makes a show of being exasperated, inside he feels warm and fluttery. It’s been a long time since he’s had anyone take care of him, and even that tiny gesture is affecting him a little more than it probably should.

He digs into his carbonara and finds it tastes exactly as good as it smells. The moan he lets out is almost pornographic. “Oh my god, Harry, this is incredible,” he exclaims. “How the hell did you learn to cook like this?”

Harry smiles modestly. “Just learnt. A few recipe books, Jamie Oliver on the telly. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Seriously Harry, this is amazing.”

“You’ve never even tried carbonara before. You don’t even know how it’s supposed to taste,” Harry argues lightly.

“I don’t care. This is like restaurant standard.”

Harry laughs, but he’s started to blush slightly. Louis likes it, the faint tint of pink in his cheeks.

“You know, I’m really glad you came tonight, Louis,” Harry says seriously. “I know it was a bit of an… odd request.”

“A bit. But I think I get it. A guy in your position, it must be difficult to hide a part of who you really are. Especially when you have certain... needs.”

“Exactly,” Harry smiles brightly. “And I hope I didn’t seem too blunt, asking you to, um, sleep with me like I did. It’s just, I know right away when I’m attracted to someone, and you seemed like a decent person. And Niall liked you too, so I thought, why not give it a go? After all, the least you could do was turn me down, run to the press, out me to the entire world.” Harry’s smile has turned sheepish, and Louis can sense he’s tensed up a little.

“I would never do that, you know. Out you, that is,” Louis assures. “I didn’t exactly have the easiest coming out in the world myself. It wasn’t awful or anything, like my family were completely fine about it and most of my friends said they’d suspected already, but… I wasn’t ready. I never wanted to be gay, and once I realised I was, and that I couldn’t change it, it was a lot to come to terms with. And then, when I got outed… I hadn’t even accepted my own sexuality myself, and suddenly I had to worry about everyone else accepting me.”

Harry frowns. “You shouldn’t hate yourself for who you are.”

“I know that now, but it’s different when you’re sixteen.” Louis shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m happy now, regardless of all that shit that happened. It’s in the past. My point is, I just wouldn’t want anyone else to be forced out of the closet when they’re not ready.”

Harry smiles, soft and sincere. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you get it.”

They talk easily after that, conversation flowing freely. Harry tells Louis about the North American gigs, exciting dripping from every word. It’s clear Harry loves what he does, that he gets a real joy from performing. Louis can’t help but be swept up in Harry’s enthusiasm, answering each of Harry’s beaming smiles with a smile of his own.

Eventually Harry seems to realise he’s been taking up most of the conversation. “I think that’s enough about what I do,” he says, looking slightly bashful, “What about you? You mentioned before that you were a writer?”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis replies, ducking his head down. Of course Harry would remember that. “I’m not very successful though. Struggling writer is probably a better description. I’m working on a novel right now. Just gotta find someone to publish it, you know?”

“Someone will pick it up. Definitely. You’ll make it one day,” Harry says, sounding confident. Louis doesn’t remind him that he hasn’t read a single word Louis’ written. He could be a terrible writer for all Harry knows.

“Yeah, maybe,” is all Louis says, playing with the food on his plate.

Thankfully, Harry’s phone beeps right then, and he checks it’s okay with Louis before he looks at it. When he does, he snorts, shaking his head slowly. “It’s Niall,” Harry informs him. “He says hello.” Louis presumes from the amused slant of Harry’s mouth that that’s not all Niall said.

“Go on,” he sighs. “Tell me the rest of the message.”

“Um…” Harry hesitates, looking slightly embarrassed. “He’s just asking if I have enough condoms, or if I want him to swing by the pharmacy and get some.”

Louis laughs. “And what’d you tell him?”

“I told him to mind his own fucking business.”

Louis spends the rest of the meal watching Harry eat, watching as his lips stretch around the fork, as his jaw tightens as he chews. He’s quite simply gorgeous, the most beautiful man Louis’ ever seen, and it makes his own palms feel hot, clammy. Louis gets to have him, _touch_ him, even for so short a time. He can hardly believe it.

Harry chatters away, telling him some story about what he and Niall got up to the last time they were in New York. It’s incredibly long and rambling, and he keeps waiting for Harry to get to the point, only for Harry to finish up seemingly out of nowhere. Honestly, Louis’ not sure what the whole story was even about except that it somehow involved a goat. All the same, Louis can’t help but find it incredibly endearing. By the time the meal’s finished, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks have started to ache.

Harry clears the plates away, and Louis relaxes back into his chair. He’s not sure if it’s the beer taking effect, or if it’s just Harry, but he feels silly about how nervous he was about tonight earlier. Harry’s so sweet, and he’s funny too, even if his jokes are horrible. There hasn’t been an awkward moment between them all night and Louis is hopelessly fond of him already, slightly against his better judgement.

“So,” says Harry, coming up behind Louis and draping his arms around his shoulders. “Are you ready for dessert?” Harry starts kissing his neck, and Louis feels the goosebumps rise under his lips.

Louis tuts. “That line was horrible, Styles,” he says, but at the same time he leans back his head a little to give Harry better access.

Harry drags his teeth up Louis’ neck, then whispers, “Upstairs?” in Louis’ ear. Louis can do nothing only nod.

Harry takes him by the hand and pulls him up, but as soon as Louis’ standing, Harry leans in and kisses him. It’s all tongues and teeth, deep and passionate, and Louis fists his hand in Harry’s hair as he kisses him back. Harry’s hands untuck Louis’ shirt from his trousers, and then drift up to clasp around Louis’ hips, holding him firmly.

“God, you’re so hot,” Harry murmured, pulling back slightly. “I just want you naked in my bed. I've wanted it all night.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Louis asks in a horribly unsteady voice. His cock’s already swelling in anticipation, and his mind can barely focus on anything except how much he wants Harry inside of him. Thankfully, Harry seems to be on the same wavelength, pulling him out of the room before he’s even finished the question.

Harry drags him towards the stairs, but when they reach the bottom he just grunts out “Wait,” and then pushes Louis bodily against the wall.

“Harry, what the fuck?” demands Louis. He gets impatient when he’s horny, and his dick desperately needs attention as soon as possible.

“I need to suck you off,” is all Harry says, before he kisses Louis once on the lips and then sinks to his knees. _Shit_. Louis’ dick gives an unmistakable twitch of interest, fattening up almost immediately.

Harry’s long fingers are on the button of Louis’ jeans, and in one fluid motion he pops it open and pulls down the zip. He pushes up Louis’ shirt a little, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin of Louis’ stomach, making Louis squirm with more embarrassment than arousal. He can’t remember the last time he went to the gym, and he knows he’s developed a tiny bit of a paunch. His fingers itch slightly, like they want to push Harry away, and he has to ball his hands into fists to stop himself. Harry, however, seems to sense his distress, dragging his teeth across his tummy and then biting down gently, before pulling off to murmur “so beautiful, Lou.” He moves to Louis’ hips next, sucking in a bright red bruise, before quickly kissing down his thighs.

Louis’ cock is hard and leaking already, a rather noticeable wet patch darkening the front of his underpants. Harry mouths over it, making Louis groan at the contact. He can feel Harry smile against his cock at that, before fingers are digging into the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down. Louis shivers as the cold air hits his dick, feeling exposed in more ways than one.

“I've been thinking about this all night,” Harry moans, his eyes glued to Louis’ cock. “Been wanting to taste you.” The heat from Harry’s breath ghosts over his dick, and Louis whimpers with anticipation, knees weak already and he hasn’t even been touched.

And then suddenly Harry’s mouth is on him. He licks flatly up the shaft before sucking the head into his mouth and tonguing the slit. Louis throws an arm across his face and bites down, trying to stifle his moans. A moment later, fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his arm away. “You can be loud, Lou,” Harry tells him, looking Louis straight in the eyes. “I like it,” he says, before dipping his head back down and enclosing the head of Louis’ cock between his lips.

Harry’s head keeps bobbing lower and lower, until Louis’ cock is hitting the back of his throat. Harry starts making slight gagging noises but he doesn’t pull off. Louis’ breath is coming in quick, uncontrollable gasps. It feels unbelievable, and Louis is whining openly, trying to stop his hips from bucking when his cock is already so far down Harry’s throat.

His fingers knot in Harry’s hair, desperate for some kind of purchase as Harry moves his head up and down, building up a strong rhythm. His cherubic lips are pink and wet, stretched sinfully around Louis’ dick, and the expression on his face can only be described as beatific. Louis has honestly never seen someone look as content sucking cock as Harry.

Tight heat coils in Louis stomach, and he knows he’s getting close. “Harry,” he moans breathlessly, “Harry, I’m gonna…” He can’t even finish his sentence, but he gives Harry’s hair a sharp tug and hopes that he gets the picture.

Harry doesn’t pull off, instead just blinking up at Louis with his green eyes, as he twists a hand over the bottom of Louis’ shaft. Louis can’t look away, even as his orgasm hits, he just stares into Harry’s eyes. Harry pulls off when Louis starts to come, working him through it with his hand and opening his mouth to catch the come on his tongue. He looks straight at Louis as he swallows, smirking.

Louis slumps against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Harry doesn’t give him much of a chance though, standing up to kiss him deeply, pushing his own erection against Louis’ thigh. Louis can taste the remnants of himself in Harry’s mouth, salty and sharp.

“Wanna fuck you,” Harry mumbles against his lips. “Lemme take you to bed.”

Louis’ legs have turned to jelly, and his pants are still around his ankles and while he wants nothing more than to be pounded into Harry’s mattress, but the stairs are suddenly resembling a particularly unclimbable mountain. He needn’t have worried though, because before he’s even has a chance to say anything, Harry grasps him around the waist and picks him up bridal style.

“Oh my god, Harry! You’ll put your back out,” Louis yells.

Harry just grins cheekily. “You’re not that heavy. And I've been working out.”

The ascent up the stairs is steady, but also very slow. Louis protests the entire way up, telling Harry to put him down, that he can walk by himself, but he’s laughing, at the same time. Harry cheerfully ignores him, and Louis can hardly believe the absurdity of this boy.

Harry’s breathing rather heavily by the time they make it to the top, but he manages to make to his bedroom and throw Louis down on the bed. He takes a moment after that, standing at the edge of the bed and breathing deeply. Harry looks like he just ran a marathon, and Louis’ sides hurt from laughing, and the whole ordeal was entirely unsexy, but Louis just feels endeared. This idiot boy.

“You need a rest, Styles?” he teases, as Harry wipes his forehead.

“Shut up,” Harry responds, and then he’s quickly clambering onto the bed and crawling up Louis’ body. He leans down to kiss Louis, and oh god. Louis moans as he feels the thickness of Harry’s clothed cock rub against his thigh. Louis wants to touch it, _feel_ it _._ Any urge to laugh is completely wiped from his mind.

“Get naked,” Louis murmurs, pushing Harry off a little. “And get me naked, I look ridiculous.”

Harry is only too eager to obey, pulling off his shirt before working on his jeans. Louis fingers fumble over the buttons on his own shirt, and he starts cursing himself for choosing to wear a button-up of all things. He takes so long that Harry has time to strip completely _and_ drag off Louis own shoes and pants from where they were still bunched around his ankles.

Harry naked is a sight to behold. Louis hadn’t the mental capacity to fully appreciate him last time but now he takes the time to drink in the broad expanse of his shoulders and the v-lines by his hips. He’s a work of art, a sculpture, and _Louis_ gets to enjoy him.

Harry’s cock is standing stiff between his legs, and Louis wants it inside of him. “Harry,” he asks quickly, “can I ride you?”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, looking eager.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, nodding his head vigorously. “Please.”

Harry hastily climbs back onto the bed, throwing himself on top of Louis and kissing him hard and grinding his crotch down onto Louis’. Louis hisses a bit from the oversensitivity, but despite having come earlier he can feel his cock beginning to harden again. They stay like that for a moment, just kissing and rutting against each other, gasping softly into each other’s mouths.

Eventually Louis decides to take charge, flipping them over until he on top, knees each side of Harry’s hips. Harry gives a surprised “oof” as his head hits the pillow, followed by an adorable, breathless giggle that makes Louis bend straight back down to kiss him, to capture the laughter in his own mouth.

The kiss turns heated quickly, tongues tangling and teeth clacking, and Louis’ hips shift against Harry’s without volition. Harry groans and his hands stray down to cup Louis’ arse, squeezing gently.

“C’mon Harry,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips. “Wanna ride you already. Hurry up, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” Harry agrees, nodding his head rapidly. He twists underneath Louis, turning to open a drawer of one of the bedside lockers and pulling out some condoms and lube. Harry clicks open the lube, and spreads some on his fingers.

“Hang on, sit up on me a little,” he instructs Louis, hand massaging Louis’ arse. Louis does as he’s told, shimmying up Harry’s body, shuddering as his cock brushes against Harry’s stomach. Harry’s hands reach around him to pull apart his arse cheeks, fingers covered in cool lube ghosting over his hole, making Louis shiver.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis moans in encouragement, pushing back towards the fingers. Harry obeys, stroking over his hole gently before working a finger inside. Louis sighs in pleasure, welcoming the slight stretch as Harry moves it inside him.

Harry is careful, infuriatingly so. Louis’ so hard his cock is leaking, but Harry insists on taking his time, on taking care of him. It’s different from their previous drunken fumble, every move made with tender intent. Eventually Harry pushes in a second finger, scissoring them both oh so gently. Louis squirms under Harry’s patient ministrations, a low, smouldering heat burning in his belly until he can't take it anymore.

“That’s enough, I’m ready,” he gasps out, and before Harry can respond he’s batting away his hands. Reaching behind him, Louis takes hold of Harry’s dick. It’s thick and hot in his hand, and Louis can’t resist giving it a quick squeeze. Harry groans and throws his head back against the pillow.

“Shit, Louis, careful,” Harry warns him.

Louis’ raises an eyebrow. “You can’t be that close already.”

“I’ve been waiting ages,” Harry explains, hips bucking up as if to emphasise his point.

“Well, Harold, you’d better keep on waiting. Don’t come before me,” Louis instructs authoritatively, a teasing smirk on his face. Harry whines a little but doesn’t protest.

Louis shifts a little, positioning himself right over Harry’s cock. He loves it, loves the control, loves being able to set the pace. With a small sigh he sinks down on Harry, feeling the stretch as he pushes through the tight ring of muscle.

Harry’s moaning beneath him already, hands squeezing Louis’ thighs reflexively. Louis takes a moment when he’s fully seated on Harry, adjusting to the fullness. Once he feels he’s ready, he starts lifting up and down in small movements. It’s still enough to make Harry bite his lip, the pink skin turning white under pressure.

Eventually Louis moves faster, settling into a rhythm that has the air escaping from Harry’s lungs in small little bursts.  His fingers come up to pinch at Louis’ nipples and Louis keens.

“God,” Harry mutters at the sound, then wraps a hand around the back of Louis’ neck. “C’mere,” he says, pulling Louis down towards him and capturing his mouth with his. The kiss messily, breaths heavy. Harry plants his feet on the bed and starts thrusting up into Louis, hard and fast. Louis rocks against Harry, cock sliding against his stomach.

Then Harry shifts a little, and Louis’ vision immediately explodes in shades of white, pleasure running through him like an electric current.

“Shit, Harry!” Louis moans, mouthing against Harry’s neck. “There, please there!”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, pushing into Louis harder, hitting his spot dead on. The pressure in Louis’ stomach grows and grows, until he’s barely able to think, to _breathe_.

“Please tell me you’re close,” Harry says with a moan. His face is flushed and breathing uneven, and it’s clear he’s not going to last much longer.

Louis laughs lightly. “I’m so close, fuck,” he tells him. His body is shuddering, aching for a release. “Just touch me and I’ll come.”

Harry doesn’t need much persuading, sliding a hand in between them to grasp Louis cock. It only takes a couple of pumps before Louis can’t take it anymore, coming with strangled shout. He collapses down on top of Harry, completely spent, and Harry follows soon after, teeth biting down on Louis’ shoulder.

They lie there for a moment afterwards, both recovering from their orgasms. Eventually Harry’s dick inside him starts feeling uncomfortable, and Louis shifts to take it out. He rolls off the condom for Harry, tying a knot in it.

“What do I do with this then?” he asks, waving it in front of Harry’s face.

“God, I don’t care,” Harry says lethargically. “Throw it on the ground or something. I’ll deal with it later.”

“Lazy, lazy,” Louis chastises, but he does what he’s told, not feeling much like moving himself. He lies back down beside Harry, fingers coming up to prod at his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Harry says, noticing, “That’s gonna bruise.”

“It’s alright.” It twinges a bit, but Louis likes it, likes the reminder. He finds himself smiling, unable to help it.

“You wanna sleep here?” Harry asks. It’s less of a question from the way he’s already burrowing into Louis’ side, eyes closing.

“Is that okay? And you can’t sleep yet; you’re covered in come, Harry. So am I. We need to get cleaned up.”

“No,” Harry says petulantly, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and keeping him closer. “Sleep now. Shower tomorrow.”

Louis can’t even pretend to protest. “Fine,” he sighs, turning in the bed so that his back is pressed up against Harry’s front.

“Yay!” Harry whispers victoriously, snuggling in closer.

Louis shakes his head in mock exasperation. “Goodnight, Harry,” he mumbles into the darkness.

“G’night Lou.”

Louis doesn’t think he imagines the small kiss that’s pressed against his hair.

 

 

~*~

 

If Louis is in a spectacularly good mood in the following weeks, then he’s not telling a soul. Zayn’s clearly noticed anyway though, judging by the sideways looks he keeps giving Louis whenever he walks into work singing.

Harry’s busy a lot, with interviews and photoshoots and constant album promotion, but he still manages to meet up with Louis a few times a week, and they text every day. Harry’s fun to talk to, flirty and silly and very, very quirky, and Louis finds himself getting a bit excited whenever his message tone goes off.

Quite often, Louis will be sitting at his desk at work bored out of his mind when Harry will text him a completely terrible joke. Louis keeps trying to tell himself that he’s just grateful for a break in the monotony, but that doesn’t quite explain all the beats his heart misses whenever his phone lights up with Harry’s name.

 

 **From Harry:** _Why did the banana go out with the prune? Xx_

 **To Harry:** _Harry, please. I’m trying to work on something x_

**From Harry:** _Because he couldn’t find a date! Xx_

**To Harry:** _I’m blocking your number x_

**From Harry:** _I’m sorry :( Come over tonight and I’ll make it up to you? Xx_

**To Harry** : _Hmmm…_

 

Louis tries not to let on how much Harry’s dumb jokes brighten his day, but every time Zayn catches him laughing at his phone, he raises his eyebrows in that annoying, knowing way. Louis shrugs it off. He’s happy, and he’s having fun, and that’s all there is to it.

Even his weekly Wednesday meetings with Cowell aren’t getting him down as much as they used to. It helps that Simon’s impressed with him, pleased that Louis’ meeting up with Harry so often. Louis doesn’t exactly divulge what he and Harry get up to when they’re together though, letting Simon believe that mostly they just play Fifa and eat takeaways from the local Chinese. Simon keeps pushing Louis to press Harry for more information, to ask more questions about his family, his relationships, hell, even his taxes. Anything they could use for a story. Louis tells him he’s trying, passes off his hesitance as an attempt to stop Harry growing suspicious. Luckily, for the most part Simon seems to accept Louis’ reasons for taking his time, demonstrating an uncharacteristic amount of patience.

Overall, Louis’ enjoying himself. Way more than he thought he would. Way more than he probably _should_. But no one’s getting hurt, at least not yet, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ready for the thing he started with Harry to end.

*

It’s almost ten p.m. one night when Louis gets a text from Harry that simply reads, _‘Okay if come over? Xx_ ’. Louis' not doing much, just lying on the sofa, eating a share size bag of crisps by himself and binge watching an old season of America’s Next Top Model, so he tells Harry to come round.

Louis quickly hops up and tries to tidy up the flat a little, straightening up the couch cushions and throwing rubbish in the bin. The place still looks quite messy when he’s done, but at least it’s better than it was. When Harry turns up, he’s clutching a brown paper bag in one hand. “I brought food!” he says brightly, holding it up. “In case you were hungry.”

Louis' not really, having gorged himself on crisps, but the food smells good and Harry looks so pleased with himself, so he shrugs and says, “Let me get some plates. We can just eat on the sofa.”

Somehow it comes up in conversation that Harry loves Grease, and that Louis actually starred in Grease in a sixth form show, and so then it becomes inevitable that they have to put on the movie. By the end of the film they’re shout-singing _You’re the One that I Want_ so loud, Louis’ afraid his neighbours are going to complain. Harry’s laughing and slightly out of breath, after getting up to re-enact Sandy’s shimmying with an unreasonable amount of enthusiasm.

“It’s not the same without the leather catsuit, Styles,” Louis remarks after Harry’s performance.

Harry pouts and then throws himself back down on the sofa next to Louis, letting the last of his laughter fade. “I bet you’d like to see me in a leather catsuit. Actually, you know what? We should check if there’s a Grease musical playing somewhere next weekend. Maybe they’d even let you up on stage to do Danny’s part.”

“Only if you’re my Sandy,” Louis says playfully. He leans over to give Harry a peck on the lips. “After a shimmy like that how could I have anyone else?” Harry giggles, and kisses Louis again, and then again.

“But seriously, Lou,” Harry pulls back, “we should go!”

“Yeah? We can if you want. I’d like to find an actor who could match my incredible interpretation of Danny. But, um, I’m busy next weekend actually.”

“Busy how?”

“I’m having a party for my birthday.”

“Wait, it’s your birthday next weekend?” Harry sits up straighter.

“Not exactly. My birthday isn’t really until Christmas Eve, but most people just want to stay at home and spend time with their families then. I’ll actually be heading up Doncaster myself.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Yeah, I think I’ll be in Mullingar with Niall for Christmas. He invited me with him a few weeks ago. I won’t be around for your actual birthday either.”

He sounds a bit sad about it, but that isn’t the thing that really gets Louis’ attention. Harry isn’t going to spend Christmas with his family? It certainly supports Simon’s theory of a deep-seated rift, and Louis is dying to learn more. He doesn’t know how to question it further without sounding nosy though, so all he says is, “Exactly, that’s why I’m having a few friends round here a few days earlier. Nothing big, this place doesn’t exactly hold a lot of people. You’re more than welcome to come?” Louis offers.

Harry looks like he’s thinking about it for thinking about for moment, before he gives a reluctant shake of his head. “Probably best I don’t come, actually. My fans are kind of intense. If it got out that I was at your birthday party, they’d definitely be all over you and our relationship. Trying to figure out how I knew you, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” agrees Louis, and it’s true. He does. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a small twinge of disappointment that Harry won’t be celebrating his birthday with him.

“Sorry I won’t be there,” Harry says, sounding anything but. He’s smirking, and edging closer to Louis, placing his hand on his thigh. “Let me make it up to you?”

And well. Moments later, as Harry’s lips wrap around his cock, Louis guesses he isn’t that disappointed after all.

 

~*~

 

Louis’ birthday party ends up going off almost without a hitch. A couple of glasses got smashed, and someone smeared a bit of birthday cake on the back of his sofa, but overall Louis’ very pleased with the night.

The party's wound down, with most of the guests gone home apart from Zayn and Liam, when the doorbell rings. Louis' only half-drunk at this stage, the alcohol having mostly worn off, and quite frankly he was thinking of heading to bed soon.

"Who the fuck is that?" he questions ungraciously, dragging himself off the sofa with considerable effort. Zayn and Liam pay him little attention as he leaves the room, too busy cuddling on the other end of the couch. Sickening.

Needless to say, Louis’ absolutely not expecting to find Harry at the door. Harry notices his shell-shocked expression and laughs. "What, Lou? You didn't expect me to miss your birthday did you? I was just waiting until everyone had headed home. Figured it would cause less of a fuss."

"Oh my god," Louis exclaims. "I can’t believe you came! Shit, come in. Zayn and Liam are still here, but they're my best mates. They won’t freak out about you or anything.” At least Louis hoped they wouldn’t. He’d strangle them if they did.

He leads Harry into his modest living room, feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden. He’s pretty sure Harry is used to better than one-bed flats in West Ealing. Harry doesn’t comment though, just smiles as he takes in his surroundings.

Louis clears his throat. “Um, guys, this is Harry,” he announces. Zayn and Liam’s heads both pop up simultaneously, eyes wide. It would be comical if Louis weren’t cringing inside.

“Hello,” Harry greets them with a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Liam recovers quickest. He hops up off the sofa and, ever polite, sticks out his hand for Harry to shake. “Liam,” he introduces himself. “And that’s Zayn.”

Zayn shakes Harry’s hand from where he’s sitting on the sofa, still looking a little starstruck.

“Louis talks about you guys all the time,” Harry says.

That seems to jolt Zayn out of his Harry-induced haze. “Really?” he smirks. “He talks about you too.” He waggles his eyebrows at Louis, and Louis gives him the finger in return.

“Sit, Harry,” Louis says, gesturing to the sofa. “You want me to get you a beer or anything?”

“Or,” Zayn pipes up, pulling a baggy out from the pocket of his jeans, “we could smoke instead?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” replies Harry, smiling at Zayn and taking a seat.

Louis sits down next to Harry, watching as Zayn rolls up a joint and lights it, before passing it to them. He rolls a separate one for him and Liam, sitting back into the sofa as he takes a drag. "So, Harry," Zayn starts, “What are your intentions with our Louis?”

Harry laughs while Louis groans. “Zayn, please. Don’t do this.”

Of course Liam immediately takes that as his cue to join in. “Louis is a delicate flower; I won’t have you sullying his virtue, Styles.”

"I promise to treat him right," Harry swears. "Home by ten, no touching above the waist and all that."

"Please Harry, don't encourage them,” Louis pleads, glaring at his friends. They all just collapse into laughter while Louis rolls his eyes.

“I hate you all,” he tells them, then sits back on the sofa with a pout.

“Have a smoke and shut up, mate,” Zayn says. Louis grumbles under his breath, but lifts the joint to his lips and inhales. He passes it off to Harry, holding the smoke in his chest and letting it burn his lungs.

“So, how long have you two been a couple then?” Harry asks, gesturing at Liam and Zayn.

“About four years now,” Zayn says, while Liam mutters ‘ _four and a half_ ’ under his breath. “We met when we were both in uni.”

“Wow, that’s a long time,” Harry remarks. “Were you doing the same course then?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, I was doing journalism and Li was studying physiotherapy.”

“You’re a journalist?” Harry asks, and Louis can hear the sudden wariness in his tone.

Zayn seems to hear it too, eyes flicking quickly to Louis before he says, “Not really. I’m a television critic actually.”

“Oh,” Harry says, relaxing a little, but not completely. Louis’ gonna hit Zayn later.

Blessedly Liam steps in, changing the topic quickly. He tells Harry all about how he and Zayn met, back when Liam was working part-time in the campus shop, and Zayn was a stressed out caffeine addict. It’s a story Louis’ heard more times than he can count.

“He split a full cup of coffee all down me. I was completely soaked and mildly scalded, and Zayn was so, so sorry. I honestly thought he was going to burst into tears.”

“I was under a lot of pressure, alright?” Zayn says defensively. “I hadn’t slept in a week, I had about five hundred different assignments due, and on top of that I thought I’d permanently scarred the fit shop assistant. I was having a bad day.”

“Luckily I had a spare shirt in my locker at the gym, so it was easy enough to get changed. Zayn followed me the whole way there, apologising and trying to get me to let him pay to have it dry-cleaned. I ended up taking him to the campus restaurant and buying him a new coffee to calm him down, show there were no hard feelings. We sat and chatted, he gave me his number, and the rest is history.”

Zayn throws Liam a fond look while Louis makes gagging noises in the background.

“ _I_ think it’s romantic,” Harry states, a little dreamily. “It’s like fate, isn’t it? You were destined to spill that coffee on Liam.”

“How much of that have you smoked?” Louis asks, eyeing the joint in his hand. “Gimme.”

Before long, the weed’s definitely kicking in, and they’re laughing and joking around like old friends. Harry has Zayn and Liam wrapped around his little finger already, the two of them completely charmed. Louis knows how they feel. Every time he catches Harry’s eye tonight, he can’t help but break out into a grin.

Eventually, as the night winds down, Louis turns to Harry. “You’re staying tonight, right?” he asks.

“I can if you’d like. I’ll have to leave before midday tomorrow though. I’m catching a flight to Dublin with Niall.”

“Stay, please. I definitely want you to,” Louis tells him.

“Then I’ll stay,” Harry smiles, leaning in to give him a kiss. Louis’ sure he only means to give him a peck, but he fists a hand in Harry’s hair, keeping him there. Their lips move together, soft and smooth, and Louis’ seconds away from lying back on the sofa and pulling Harry down on top of him.

“Right,” Liam states suddenly, and Harry and Louis break apart to watch him stand up. “I think that’s our cue to leave. C’mon love, up you get,” he says, dragging a slightly groggy Zayn to his feet.

“Oh, you don’t have to go” Louis starts, but it’s obvious his heart’s not in it. Liam rolls his eyes.

“I’d rather not stay to witness you two dry humping on the couch. And Zayn’s about to pass out, it’s best I get him home,” Liam explains, putting a supportive arm around Zayn.

Louis walks them both out to the front door, hugging them tightly.

“Hope you had a good birthday, Tommo,” Liam tells him.

“Me too,” Zayn adds, through a yawn. He drops his voice to a whisper then, and says, “You know, Harry isn’t half bad. And he seems to really like you.”

Louis feels his cheeks flush, and he doesn’t know quite what to say. He likes Harry too, of course he does, but it’s a bit strange to think that it might be a mutual thing.

“Yeah,” he eventually mumbles out. “He’s a good person.” And it’s true, as far as he can tell. He hasn’t seen any sign of the bratty, obnoxious figure the tabloids make him out to be. Louis’ not naive, he works for a tabloid for goodness sake, he knows how the media can twist stories, but at the same time he always expected to find a grain of truth at their heart. His experience so far with Harry has him questioning a lot of things, and it’s uncomfortable to say the least.

He bids a final goodbye to Zayn and Liam, and then heads back into Harry, eager to finish what they started.

*

The next morning, Harry wakes Louis up by shuffling into the bedroom, balancing a tray loaded with a plate of pancakes and a mug of sweet tea.

“Harry,” Louis exclaims, “you’re spoiling me.”

“It is your birthday after all. Or it will be. Here,” Louis sits up in the bed, and Harry places the tray in his lap, before crawling into bed beside him. Louis gives him a thankful kiss before starting on his breakfast.

“Oh my god, Harry, these are incredible,” he mumbles through a mouthful of pancakes and maple syrup. They’re like heaven in his mouth, fluffy and delicious.

“Glad you like them,” Harry smiles in reply.

“Best birthday present ever,” Louis announces.

“This isn’t actually your present though. I got you something else.”

“What? Harry, you didn’t have to,” Louis immediately protests.

“Maybe, but I wanted to,” Harry shushes him. “Do you want it now?”

Louis considers protesting more, but he actually does really like presents. He gives a small nod. “Please.”

Harry hops back out of bed and wanders over to where the jacket he arrived in last night is resting on Louis’ desk. He rifles through the pockets and pulls out an envelope. He presents it to Louis with a smile.

Louis rips open the envelope immediately. “What’s this? A flight to Prague?”

Harry nods. “The third weekend in January. If you’re not busy. I’ll understand if you are.”

“I’m not busy, but. Harry, are you taking me to Prague?” Louis can’t help the excitement in his voice. The last time he’d been anywhere abroad was that trip to Magaluf with his mates after his A Levels, and that was _years_ ago.

“Yup,” says Harry, popping the ‘p’. “I’ll actually already be out there, because I’m doing a short tour of Europe in January and February, but I thought you could come out and join me? I don’t actually have any shows scheduled for that weekend, just a few interviews and that.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. He gets to spend an entire weekend in _Prague_. With _Harry_.

“Harry,” he says, quite calmly, “get this tray off me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m going to suck your dick so hard you’ll see stars.”

 

~*~

 

Christmas and New Year’s both pass with nothing but scattered phone calls from Harry, and Louis finds he misses him far more than he ever expected he would. It’s always been a problem in past relationships, this _clinginess_ , this constant need to be reassured that, yeah, the other person still wants to be with him. It’s annoying, Louis knows that, he just… can’t help it. If Louis were a psychologist, he’d probably place this need for constant validation right at the feet of his absent father. Having your dad walking out on you when you’re just a baby has to have some kind of an effect.

Being away from Harry makes all these uncomfortable thoughts float around his head. What if Harry gets bored with him? Finds someone else? Decides he just isn’t bothered with their little arrangement anymore? It would be so easy for him to drop Louis, like snipping a loose thread. The thought plays around Louis’ mind far more often than he like in Harry’s absence, and it makes his heart ache.

He physically has to shake himself on many separate occasions to remind himself that he and Harry _aren’t_ in a relationship. Harry hasn’t promised him anything, there’s no commitment there, and Louis has no claim over him. He tries not to think about it, focusing instead on his upcoming trip, hashing the details out over the phone with Harry until finally, _finally_ , the day arrives.

When he touches down in Vaclav Havel airport, a driver is waiting to pick Louis up, as he and Harry had arranged. To his surprise, Harry is also there, hiding in the backseat of the car to avoid being stopped by any fans. Louis tries not to think about how sweet it is that Harry had decided to accompany Louis back to the hotel. “It’s just a short walk to the city centre. That way,” Harry tells Louis as they hop out of the car, pointing off into the distance.

“I should hope it’s just a short walk,” Louis replies, rubbing his arms. “I’m certainly not wandering about in this weather. It’s freezing!”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s because you’re just wearing a jumper. You’d be fine if you just bundled up more. Why aren’t you wearing your coat anyway?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d be this cold when I got off the plane. I've always associated holidays with going somewhere hot, you know?”

Harry’s shaking his head, but he seems amused. “In the summer, Lou, not in the middle of January,” he chides, but there’s a fond edge. “C’mon, let’s get inside then before you get hypothermia.”

Harry turns and heads towards the hotel. “But my bags!” Louis calls after him, gesturing back to the car.

“It’s okay, Lou, Jeremy will bring them up to the room. Come on, hurry!” Needing no further persuasion, Louis heads off after Harry, jogging a little to catch up.

When he steps inside the room Louis’ jaw drops. It’s startlingly luxurious, like something straight from the French renaissance. The curtains are closed as evening draws in, but the room is well lit by a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and a myriad of wall lights. The room itself consists of two plush sofas surrounding a deep mahogany coffee table, and gold-embroidered drapes covering the windows. There’s a closed door leading off into another room, as well as an archway, separating the sitting room from what appears to be a small kitchenette and dining room.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, and Harry chuckles behind him.

“It’s a bit over the top actually. I don’t normally stay in places like this. I mean, when I’m touring I just sleep on the bus most of the time. But I thought I might as well splash out.”

“It’s incredible, Harry! I think this sitting room in bigger than my entire apartment. Fuck me.”

“Fuck you? You haven’t even seen the bedroom yet.” Louis doesn’t even need to look at Harry to know he’s smirking.

Louis wanders over to closed door, and pulls it open. He was prepared for opulence but it still takes his breath away. A four-poster queen-size bed stands in the middle of the room, and double doors lead out onto a balcony, pale evening light streaming in. Louis runs and flings himself down on the bed, feeling like a child at Christmas. He thinks he may never leave.

It’s the en suite though, when Louis finally goes to have a look at it, that seals it for him. The bathtub in particular. It’s absolutely huge, wide and deep, with steps leading up to it, and lots of different buttons and nozzles.

“We’re fucking in that,” Louis tells Harry. He hears no argument.

Before Louis can make another move, there’s a knock coming from the door of the suite. “That’ll be your bags,” Harry says, going to answer the door. The bellhop is a young man, who leaves off their suitcases in the bedroom, and Louis watches Harry slip him some notes, murmuring his thanks.

The second the door shuts behind the bellhop Louis bounds over to Harry, throwing himself in his arms. “So what are we going to do now then?” he asks flirtatiously.

Harry laughs, and pecks Louis quickly on the lips. And then he pushes Louis off, much to his annoyance. Louis pouts, and Harry bops him on the nose with his finger. “ _You_ are going to get changed, and then we’re going out to dinner.”

Louis’ pout immediately transforms into a smile. “You gonna wine and dine me, Styles?”

“Well I've got to treat you right if I want to get into your pants.” Harry pinches his bum as if to emphasise his point. “C’mon then, put on something nice.”

After Louis has changed into a simple pair of black pants with a warm grey woollen jumper, he and Harry choose to take a taxi into the city instead of walking. It’s getting dark out already, so Harry thinks he’ll be able to avoid being spotted by most fans, but they know he’s in the city touring, so chances are there are a few trying to keep an eye out for him.

Harry has been to Prague a few times, so using the driver’s broken English and his own wildly exaggerated hand motions he’s able to direct the driver exactly where he wants to go. They pull up right outside an old rustic style restaurant that Harry vehemently claims serves the best traditional Czech food.

When Harry gives his name to the hostess, she immediately perks up. “Ah yes, Mr. Styles,” she says, “We’ve been expecting you.” A server takes their coats, before they’re escorted to a table that’s right at the very back of the restaurant in a little alcove. They’re completely shielded from view from the rest of the diners.

“Wow,” says Louis, taking his seat. “Seriously Harry, this place is almost fancier than the hotel. You don’t have to spend that much money on me.”

“It’s either spend it on you or spend it on Niall, and Niall doesn’t put out,” Harry teases.

“Harry!” Louis admonishes, throwing his napkin at him. A waitress that Louis hadn’t noticed before gives a small cough, and then hands them their menus, giving Louis a particularly tight smile. Louis belatedly realises this is probably not the kind of establishment where the guests throw things at their dates and act like they’re five years old. He feels decidedly intimidated, and glances quickly at Harry. Harry seems unperturbed, both at Louis’ actions and the waitress’ snotty attitude. He’s just smiling at the server, and ordering two pints for himself and Louis. Maybe he didn’t catch the look she’d thrown Louis. He decides not to bring it up, and resolves to tone down his behaviour.

Harry insists they both order starters, so Louis goes with the spinach risotto. Harry makes a face when he gives the server the order. “That’s not very Czech,” he criticises.

“Harry, I barely pronounce these dishes, forgive me for sticking with what I know.”

Harry visibility brightens. “I’ll order your main for you,” he says, like it’s a great idea. Louis lets him, because he seems so excited about it, and Harry asks for something completely unintelligible.

They chat while waiting for their food to arrive, Harry telling him about his weekend schedule. He has a few interviews to do, but they shouldn’t take up much time, so he’s mostly free to spend all day Saturday and Sunday with Louis, before Louis has to leave Sunday evening.

“We can go sightseeing,” Harry says happily. “I hardly ever get to visit the places I go to. I’m normally so busy, the only time I get to leave my hotel is when I’m performing or doing promo.”

Louis frowns. “Can’t you get your management to give you more time off? Like you could get a day free in every city you visit so you can go and explore.”

Harry sighs. “I tried asking for a few more rest days, but…” He shakes his head. “They just kept telling me ‘ _This isn’t a holiday, you’re here to work._ ’ I enjoy my job, I do. Performing, playing my own music is all I ever wanted in life, but it’s just… I guess it’s just a bit different from how I expected it to be.”

Louis ruminates on that. He can’t even remember how many stories Real Exposure have run on Harry’s hard partying, making him out to be frivolous and uncaring, on the verge of crashing and burning at any moment. But from what he can tell, Harry works hard, works until he’s nearly dropping with exhaustion. And yes, he parties too, but it’s all well earned in Louis’ opinion.

Just at that moment, the waitress arrives back with their food, placing a plate of what looks like a piece of meat almost the size of Louis’ head down in front of him. There’s a bone sticking out, and Louis eyes the entire thing suspiciously.

“What’s this then?” he asks, poking it with his fork.

“Koleno. It’s good. Be careful of the bone though.”

Louis digs in. It _is_ good, the meat tender and juicy. “It tastes like pork,” he says, chewing happily, “Is it pork?”

“Kind of. It’s pig’s knee.”

Louis stops chewing. “I’m eating a pig’s knee?” He’s feeling a little tempted to spit out the mouthful he’s got, but then he remembers the snotty waitress and his own bid not to get himself and Harry kicked out of the restaurant.

Harry frowns. “Sure. Why not? You’d eat the rest of a pig.”

Louis mulls over the words for a moment, and then he shrugs. Harry’s not exactly wrong. He begins to chew slowly again. It does still taste really good. “Last time I’m letting you order for me, Styles,” he warns Harry anyway, because Harry had started looking far too pleased with himself when Louis had resumed eating.

Harry doesn’t seem to take his warning all that seriously. He just smirks and says, “Glad you like it.”

When they’ve finished the entire meal, dessert included, Harry gets the bill. He won’t let Louis see how much it costs, but Louis has a feeling it wasn’t cheap. It makes him feel guilty, letting Harry buy him things, but there’s a strange warmth at the bottom of his stomach too.

“You want to go for a walk?” asks Harry. “Work some of that food off.”

They end up walking through the Old Town, vacant now of the large throngs of tourists and the souvenir stands. They barely pass anyone else, and Louis’ not surprised. He’s bundled up, but he can tell the tip of his nose is still turning pink from the chill in the air.

Suddenly and hand brushes his, and then fingers are entwining with his own. He looks up, but Harry’s not looking back at him. It’s the first time they’ve done this, held hands where anyone could see. There’s hardly anyone around, certainly no one who would recognise Harry, but it still feels very couple-y to Louis. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

They end up on Charles Bridge, walking along the cobblestones and taking in the lights of the city glittering as they’re reflected in the river. There are a few couples here braving the cold evening air, obviously tourists. One of the older couples is taking turns rubbing one of the statues that adorn the bridge. There’s a worn patch on the statue that suggests this is a regular occurrence. Louis pauses to watch them, curious, and Harry comes to a halt beside him.

The couple notice him looking, and the woman smiles kindly at him. “It’s the statue of St. John,” she tells him, her accent identifying her as American. “If you rub the plaque at the bottom, you’ll return to Prague one day.”

“Do you really think that works?” Louis asks.

The woman shrugs. “We always rub the statue, and this is our eighth time coming to Prague. This city means a lot to us, it’s where Michael proposed to me almost thirty years ago, and we always try to make it back here as often as we can. You should try it. Maybe you and your love will return too.” She gestures at him and Harry.

“Oh,” Louis starts, and then freezes. What exactly does he say? That he and Harry aren’t like that? That it’s just a friends-with-benefits thing, and that Louis is actively lying to Harry, deceiving him in order to further his career? Hardly a vision of love’s young dream. It doesn’t matter anyway; the lady and her husband move off before he can formulate any kind of reply.

“C’mon, Lou,” says Harry, grabbing his hand. “Let’s touch it!” He’s full of excitement, and Louis can’t say no to him, despite the unease curling in his stomach. They both rub the plaque, and afterwards Harry kisses him, hands cupping Louis’ face.

They wander around Prague for another half an hour until Harry notices Louis yawning. “You’re tired,” he states. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” He calls them a taxi, and Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder in the backseat. It only begins to hit him fully how tired he actually is, the day of travelling having taken it out of him. He can barely keep his eyes open as the lights of Prague whizz by the window.

By the time they get back to the hotel, Harry has to help him to the room with a hand around his waist. He’s completely dead on his feet. Harry even helps him into bed, although Louis tells him there’s no need.

“I _can_ walk, Harry. I’m just a bit tired, I’m not an invalid.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Just shut up and take your pants off.”

“Ooh,” says Louis, wiggling his eyebrows. “You wanna christen the room?” He kicks of his shoes before divulging himself of his jeans and shirt. It takes a lot more effort than it should.

“Louis, you’re about three seconds away from passing out.”

Louis sighs. “I know, I know. I just really wanted to fuck you in this bed.”

“God, Louis.” Louis is pleased to note that his voice sounds a little tighter than before. “Just go to sleep. We have all weekend.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums. The last thing he remembers is the covers being pulled over his body and a pair of soft lips pressing down on his forehead.

*

Louis wakes the next morning to soft light filtering in through the curtains, and the feeling of something warm and wet around his cock. He jolts for a moment, his dick sliding even further into wetness, and he’s overcome with a wave of pleasure at the sensation.

Glancing down, he finds Harry’s lips enveloped around his cock, and Harry’s bright green eyes staring back up at him.

“Harry, shit!” he pants out, hands fisting in the bed sheets, fingers struggling to find purchase in the soft sheets.

Harry grunts something around Louis’ dick, and shakes his head a little.

Louis frowns. “Sorry, what?”

He immediately regrets asking, because Harry pulls off. “Your hands,” he says, “Put them in my hair.” His voice sounds scratchy, either from disuse or from the fact that Louis’ cock has been down his throat. Either way it makes Louis dizzy with arousal.

“Fuck Harry, okay,” he agrees, threading his fingers into Harry’s curls. “Just keep going!”

Harry huffs out little giggles onto Louis’ erection, and Louis would think it’s cute but he _really_ needs Harry’s mouth back on him. He shifts impatiently so Harry gets the message, and tugs on his hair.

Harry groans a little – which, _okay_? Louis will have to explore that more later – and ducks his head back down to mouth at Louis’ cock, kissing up the shaft before pulling it into his mouth.

Fuck. Louis could really get used to waking up like this.

Afterwards, Louis returns the favour, making Harry come so hard his thighs shake. Harry orders room service and they eat it in bed, Louis completely naked and Harry in the underwear he pulled on to go answer the door to the hotel employee who brought up their breakfast.

“So,” Louis says through a mouthful of toast, turning to Harry. “What’s the plan for today?”

Harry makes a displeased face. “Well, I have to go do an interview with a Czech radio station. Should only take an hour, two at most. But after that we could go sightseeing?”

Louis shrugs. He knew Harry had to work while he was here. “Sounds good to me,” is all he says, taking another bite of his toast. Crumbs fall down into the covers and Harry frowns.

“Plus it’ll give housekeeping a chance to change the sheets,” he notes, with a fond roll of the eyes.

*

Louis takes some time to explore the city by himself while Harry’s at the interview. Prague is truly beautiful, and the crisp January air means Louis almost has the streets of the Old Town to himself, only passing the odd local and winter tourist here and there.

He winds up in the Old Town Square, having arranged to meet Harry there. It’s almost empty, with most people (wisely in Louis’ opinion) avoiding straying out into the morning chill. He’s wearing a coat Harry lent him, and the sleeves are far, far too long, but he’s grateful all the same. He cups his hands together, lifting them to his face and breathing into them for warmth.

The time alone gives Louis some space to think. Being in Prague with Harry is strange, and it’s stirring up Louis’ emotions, making him unsteady. It’s easy, _too_ easy, to pretend they’re something here. To  
pretend they’re a normal couple, enjoying a romantic city break. But they aren’t. They never will be.

Louis’ just a fuck, and Harry’s just a means to an end.

Louis’ so lost in his own mind that he doesn’t even register someone approaching until that person is wrapped around him.

“Fuck!” he shouts, almost jumping out of his skin until he hears Harry’s husky chuckle.

“It’s just me,” he laughs, and Louis spins round to face him.

“Don’t sneak up on me! Bloody hell!”

Harry keeps laughing until Louis hits him on the arm.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Harry says, but a smile is still stretching his face. “You were standing there so lost in your own little world, I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.” Louis just grumbles in response until Harry ends up giving him an apologetic hug. “Ready to go explore?”

They end up at Our Lady of Victory Church, home of the Infant Jesus of Prague. Apparently it’s a famous statue, although Louis’ never heard of it. The receptionist at the radio station had insisted Harry visit however, when he’d asked her for sightseeing recommendations earlier.

“Where’s this statue meant to be then?” whispers Louis. It feels too strange to speak at a normal volume in a church.

“Over here,” points Harry, leading him towards a shrine. “There it is.”

“ _That’s_ the statue? It’s tiny! My sister has dolls bigger than that!”

“Shh, Louis. It’s holy.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s creepy,” he retorts. He’s never been one for religion, and religion’s never been really been one for him either. Harry just smiles at him, but he says nothing.

Harry stares at the statue for a little while longer, then blesses himself with the sign of the cross. “We can go now, if you’d like,” he says.

“You believe in all that then?” Louis asks as they leave the church. “God and everything?”

“God and everything?” repeats Harry, sounding amused. “Yeah I guess I do. I mean, I don’t exactly believe every word written down in the bible. I don’t think homosexuality’s a sin, and I hardly think I’m going to burn in hell every time I get a new tattoo, do I? But I like to believe there’s a higher power looking down on us. And a heaven we go to when we die.” He sounds wistful, and Louis can see how that’d be nice to think about.

“What about you?”

Louis shrugs, shakes his head. “Dunno. Never felt any particular connection to God, y’know? Never felt his presence, or whatever.”

He holds back on saying that God never did anything for him. When he was little, when he’d catch his mum crying because she didn’t know how she was going to pay the rent, when the other children at school had started teasing him because he didn’t have a dad, he’d look up to the sky and plead with God to make things better.

For years all he ever got was silence.

Things are much better now, of course they are. After his mum met Mark and they moved into his house his mum didn’t have to worry about finances so much, and Louis finally had someone he could call his dad. But Louis firmly believes it was Mark, not God, who saved them in the end.

He doesn’t mention any of this to Harry, keeping silent as they wander through the streets of the Old Town, ducking in and out of the shops they pass. In a second-hand bookstore, Harry finds a copy of Franz Kafka’s _The Metamorphosis_ , written all in Czech. To Louis’ bewilderment he decides to buy it.

“But you can’t even read Czech!” he points out, as Harry hands some money over to the cashier.

“That’s not the point. It’s a souvenir, isn’t it? It’s better than those mass produced fridge magnets anyway.” Louis supposes he has a point.

They leave the bookshop, barely walking five meters before there’s a ripping sound and suddenly the skies open. Rain lashes down on them out of nowhere, coming in thick, heavy sheets. Louis squeals and runs back towards the shop, reaching the shelter of the doorway as fast as he can. Harry’s right on his heels, pushing into the shop after him.

They stand there breathing heavily for a moment, looking out into the rain. And then Harry starts laughing, wiping wet strands of hair from his face. Louis joins him, the two of them giggling uncontrollably and dripping water all around them.

“Hang on,” Harry says suddenly, tucking his book into an inside pocket of his coat. “Come on,” he says to Louis, and then he’s dashing back out into the rain, twirling with his arms outstretched.

“What the hell as you doing?” Louis shouts over the rain. “You’re getting drenched, get back inside!”

“Come out here with me!” Harry yells back, “It’s refreshing!”

“You’re completely mad,” Louis tells him, but he’s already stepping out of the shop, running to where Harry is standing in the middle of the street. Louis turns his face up to the sky, letting the rain beat against it, feeling it run down his neck.

Suddenly he feels arms wrapped around him, and Harry’s pulling him close, leaning down to kiss him.

“Wait,” Louis says, pulling back, “anyone could see us out here.”

Harry looks around. “Louis we are literally the only people in the street. And I’ve always wanted to kiss someone in the rain, ever since I watched The Notebook, so please?”

“Using me to fulfil your Hollywood romance fantasies are you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Harry grins. “But maybe I just want to kiss you.”

And well, who’s Louis to deny him? Their lips meet, already wet with rain, moving softly against each other, Harry’s hands coming up to rest on Louis’ neck, cradling his face between them. The rain runs down Louis’ face, clinging to his lashes, but Louis hardly feels it, Harry occupying every ounce of his concentration.

When they both break away, Louis looks up at Harry. “So, was that romantic enough for you?”

“Most definitely.”

“I should hope so, considering I’m probably going to catch pneumonia from this.”

Harry laughs. “Well, let’s head back to the hotel and get dried off. Can’t have you getting sick on my watch.”

By the time they find a taxi they’re soaked to the skin and look completely bedraggled. The driver gives their wet clothes a disgruntled look, but Harry makes sure to give him an extra large tip once he drops them off at the hotel, so he can’t really complain.

They get to their room and Harry suggests they run a bath to get warm.  Louis has no objections. He’s been waiting to finally put the giant tub to use ever since he first laid eyes on it. They strip out of their sodden clothes, and Harry fills the tub while Louis stays warm in one of the hotel’s fluffy bathrobes. It’s a little big on him, and he has to roll up the sleeves.

When Harry done filling the bath, he turns back to Louis and pauses.

“What?” asks Louis, perturbed by the way Harry is staring at him.

“Just... You look so cute,” Harry laughs. “That robe makes you look tiny!”

“Fuck you Styles. It’s not my fault they only come in one size.” He shakes the robe off then, just to shut Harry up. It works, because now Harry’s staring at his body, eyes hungry, and not saying a word.

“C’mon then, get in the bath,” Louis orders. “I’m getting cold out here.” Harry nods and hops in, the water splashing up the sides of the tub around him. Louis climbs in too, settling in between Harry’s legs, and resting against his chest.

“I’ll wash you,” Harry says, picking up a loofah and some soap from the side of the tub. He rubs the soap across Louis’ chest to make a lather, and then spreads it around with the loofah, wiping all across Louis’ arms and torso. He abandons the loofah when he gets to Louis’ crotch, letting it float off in the water, and instead just wiping over his cock and balls with his hand. Louis relishes the feeling of Harry’s palm working over him, hips twitching.

Harry continues palming Louis for a while, until he’s hard underneath his hand. Louis can feel Harry’s own cock stiffening up too where it’s nestled against his lower back. Harry doesn’t grip Louis’ cock however; he just keeps his palm flat over Louis’ erection, as he presses soft kisses into Louis’ neck.

“Here, spread your legs more,” Harry instructs, pushing Louis’ thighs apart before he can respond. Harry then reaches his arm around to run a soapy finger down his perineum, stopping at his hole. Harry rubs against the puckered skin, making Louis twist with want. Harry wraps his free arm around Louis’ chest to hold him still.

Eventually Harry breaches his hole, moving his finger slowly in and out. The soap isn’t the best substitute for lube, but Harry is gentle, and he doesn’t press in too far. He mainly just curls his finger, rubbing it against Louis’ walls.

“I want to try something,” Harry says, his breath hitting Louis’ ear and making him shiver.

“Yes,” Louis hisses, voice shaky. “Anything.”

“Sit up,” Harry says, removing his finger from inside Louis. “Go lean over the other side of the bath.” Louis does as he’s told, and Harry jumps out to grab a towel for him to place under his chest to stop the side of the tub digging in. “You alright like that?”

“I’m good, Harry,” he tells him, feeling the water ripple against him as Harry gets back into the bath.

“Good,” Harry says, then puts his hands on Louis’ hips and pulls him so that his arse is sticking up in the air. Louis feels so vulnerable like this, and he’s glad Harry’s behind him and can’t see his face because he knows he’s gone red.

Harry’s hands move to his arse cheeks, pulling them apart, and exposing Louis further. And then. Oh. Harry’s breath is ghosting over Louis hole, heady and warm, and then there’s a pair of lips on him, just pressing gently. He keeps them there, still for a moment, before licking at Louis’ arsehole cautiously with his tongue.

“Don’t tease, Harry!” Louis begs. His cock is hanging down hard and heavy into the water so it’s near impossible to tell, but Louis’ pretty sure it started producing precome at the mere _thought_ of being rimmed. He’s desperate for Harry’s mouth and tongue.

But instead Harry draws back, his lips kissing over Louis’ bum and teeth nipping gently at random spots. “I've, um,” Harry starts, in between kisses, “actually never, um, done this before...”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Well you don’t have to.” He tries to sit back on his ankles, but Harry stops him.

“I want to! I just thought I’d warn you, I mightn’t be very good. And like, I might need some guidance?”

“Um, you can keep your tongue flat and just lick across it. And if you lick all the way down to my balls too. That feels good.” Harry bends his head back down to Louis’ arse and licks a broad swath over his hole, before moving lower and licking and kissing his balls.

“Shit, Harry. Yeah, like that,” Louis gasps, already sounding embarrassingly affected. “And then you kind of… fuck my hole. With your tongue.” Harry doesn’t respond, but Louis can feel him pressing in closer, burying his face between Louis’ cheeks. Harry laps at him quickly, tongue wet and smooth.

Louis can feel his eyes roll back in pleasure, toes curling. “You’re so good. You’re a natural, babe,” he tells Harry, voice shaky. He’s close to the edge already; he just needs that final push. He reaches a hand down, wrapping it around his dick.

“Keep going,” he tells Harry as he wanks himself quickly, fist moving faster and faster. Harry obliges, pressing in even deeper than Louis thought was possible, and before he can help it he’s overcome with pleasure, body shaking. He spills out all over his hand, come mixing with the bathwater. Louis feels so relaxed and pliant he hardly cares, but Harry scrunches up his nose.

“Ew,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get out, we’re getting dirty.”

“Don’t wanna,” Louis says, still riding on the waves of his orgasm. Turns out he doesn’t really have a choice as Harry wraps his arms around him and lifts him up onto his feet. Harry dries them both off, leaving the warm and fluffy bath towel wrapped around Louis. He snuggles into in, sated and happy.

“Hey!” Harry says, poking him in the side. “I hope you’re not trying to go asleep. I still have plans for you tonight.”

“Plans?” asks Louis, perking up. He shuffles out of the towel and wraps it around his waist.

“Yep,” Harry says, but he’s suddenly a little nervous. “I was thinking… you could fuck me?”

“Oh,” Louis says. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I could do that. Um, have you? Before?”

Harry nods. “I don’t normally though. But I want to. With you.”

Louis can’t help the grin on his face. He wanders over to Harry, reaching up wrap his arms around his neck. “So, we doing this now then?”

Harry kisses him, the moves his lips to Louis’ ear. “You sure you don’t want more time to recover?” he whispers huskily.

Louis looks down at Harry’s body, completely naked, tanned and muscular. “I think I’m good.” Before Harry can say another word Louis’ stepping out of his embrace and patting on the arm. “Race you to the bedroom!”

Louis’ legs are shaky and Harry beats him easily, launching himself on the bed with a giggly shout of celebration. Louis clambers on after him, shimmying up Harry’s body so that they’re face to face.

“I’m the winner!” Harry crows.

“Yeah?” Louis quirks an eyebrow. “And what would you like for a reward?”

“What are you gonna give me?” Harry asks cheekily, and Louis feels the overwhelming need to kiss the accompanying smirk off his face.

“You’re terrible, Styles,” he murmurs against the other boy’s lips, kissing him deeply.

The kiss grows hot quickly, Harry squirming beneath him, bucking up against Louis’ thigh to get some friction on his cock. His little moans are fast becoming one of Louis’ favourite sounds in the world, and cherishes every single one that escapes Harry’s mouth.

“Hang on, babe,” Louis tells him, reaching over to the side of the bed and grabbing the bottle of lube. He spreads some evenly on his fingers, leaning back down towards Harry. “Is like this okay?” he asks, hovering over Harry, and placing his knees in between the other boy’s thighs. He gets a firm nod in return, and he rewards Harry with a smile and a kiss.

He’s tempted to tease Harry for a while, but Harry looks so on edge already it doesn’t seem fair. He strokes a finger over Harry’s hole once, wetting it with a thin layer of lube, before pushing it in. Harry’s tight, incredibly so, and Louis shivers with the thought of being inside him.

When Harry’s ready, he works in two more fingers. He makes sure to take his time opening Harry up, just to be careful. He doesn’t want to hurt Harry, after all.

Harry’s whimpers reach fever pitch. “Louis, please. Want your cock,” he begs.

And well, Louis’ already hard again, has been for a while. Forgive him if he doesn’t really feel like denying Harry any longer. He finally takes the towel from around his waist, throwing it on the ground with a flourish.

“Alright, baby,” he hushes, giving Harry a sweet kiss before grabbing a condom from the bedside table. His fingers fumble before he finally manages to get it open, and he rolls it down his cock quickly, unable to resist swiping his hand up and down a little as he does so.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry chastises, very impatient. “In me.”

Louis chuckles. “Relax,” he tells Harry, kissing him softly. Harry’s eyes are bright and oh so green, and Louis holds his gaze as he sinks down inside of him. Harry’s mouth opens, but no sounds come out. His eyes flick all over Louis’ face as if he’s trying to study him, trying to take him in.

“You alright?” Louis asks, and Harry nods frantically.

“I’m good,” he breathes, “So good. You can move. If you’d like.”

“You sure?” Louis asks. He doesn’t want to rush Harry.

“Louis, for God’s sake, fucking _move_ ,” Harry yells.

“Language, Harold,” Louis teases, but he gives into Harry, pulling out a little and then snapping his hips back in quickly.

Harry gasps. “More,” he instructs.

“Didn’t take you for a bossy bottom,” Louis smirks, punctuating each word with another thrust.

“Nrgh,” is Harry’s eloquent reply. Louis thrusts harder and harder, building up a rhythm that has sweat beading on his forehead. Harry’s mouth is hanging open, eyes glassy, like it’s all he can do just to lie there. Louis leans down to mouth at his neck, sucking in a bruise just beneath his jaw. Harry whines a little at the pain, but he also fists a hand in Louis’ hair, keeping him there and not letting him pull away.

“You’re perfect, you know?” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear, and the other boy _giggles_ , literally giggles. When Louis looks at his face it’s flushed and shiny, but happy and so, so open. It makes the muscles in Louis’ stomach constrict.

“You are too,” Harry whispers back. “You’re beautiful.”

The moment is loaded, the air around them thick, and Louis can’t take his eyes from Harry’s face, even as he moves inside him. Every noise Harry makes, every wrinkle in his forehead, is infinitely fascinating, and Louis wants to remember this moment forever.

“You feel so good. I’m getting close,” Harry admits. Louis can tell it’s the truth from the way Harry’s cock is red and leaking. His fingers twitch, itching to touch it, so he does, wrapping his entire fist around it.

Harry groans appreciatively in response to his touch. “Lou, please,” he begs, hips bucking up a little.

“Come for me, Harry. Wanna see your face when you come,” Louis murmurs, moving his fist up and down as he pounds into Harry harder. Harry makes a series of choked off shouts, before his back is arching against the mattress and he’s shooting across his own stomach and chest.

“Good boy,” Louis praises, then speeds up his thrusts a little more, chasing his own orgasm. Harry’s clenching around him, and it doesn’t take long before Louis’ coming, eyes closing as his entire body is wracked with pleasure.

Louis pulls out and collapses down beside Harry, draping an arm over the other boy’s chest. They lie in the afterglow, exchanging soft kisses in between heavy breaths, bathing in that post orgasm bliss. Louis can see where Harry’s come lies glistening on his abs, and he’s overcome with a sudden urge to taste it, taste _Harry_. He scoots down the bed a little, ignoring the small confused glance Harry gives him, and bends down towards Harry’s stomach. He mouths gently at the skin there, tongue curling up the lines of come, and Harry groans.

“Fuck, Louis, are you trying to make me hard again?”

Louis sits back up, satisfied smirk on his face as he licks his lips. “Just wanted to see how you’d taste.”

“Yeah? And how do I taste?”

“Hmm. Like you eat a lot of fruit,” Louis tells him. He works his way back up Harry’s body, giving him a quick kiss before hopping out of the bed.

“Hey,” Harry protests. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just getting something to clean us up. Calm down, you needy bastard.” He grabbing the towel from earlier back off the floor to clean the rest of Harry’s come off. He dabs gently at his stomach, avoiding Harry’s arms trying to pull him back into the bed.

When Louis finally lies back down, Harry immediately flops all over him.

“I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs into Louis’ chest. “It’s going to be boring on tour without you.”

“You’ll have Niall,” Louis reminds him, stroking his hair.

“Can’t fuck Niall,” Harry states petulantly. Louis giggles.

“Is that all I’m good for?” teases Louis, pulling sharply on a curl.

Harry’s silent for a moment. “No,” he says eventually, voice quiet, “No it’s not.”

Louis suddenly can’t swallow around the lump in his throat. “Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?” he suggests, twisting so that he and Harry are facing each other. He leans in a gives Harry a swift peck on the lips. “We’ve still got a bit of tomorrow together.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees, snuggling his head into Louis’ chest and kissing there gently. “Goodnight, Lou.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Louis says back, but he lies awake blinking into the darkness for a long time after that.

*

The next morning Harry fucks Louis slowly, and it feels like something has changed between them. Louis doesn’t quite know what to do with that, so he just kisses Harry deeply, and keeps kissing him as his vision whites out and his fingers clutch at the sheets. Harry fucks him through his orgasm, finding his own release and then collapsing breathlessly on top of Louis.

They have a quick shower, and then Harry orders room service. Louis doesn’t know exactly how Harry manages to convey to the staff what he means by a Full English, but he’s grateful for it anyway. Nothing beats a proper fry up.

The rest of the day passes peacefully, the two of them curled up on the bed watching movies and trading kisses. Eventually though, Louis has to start getting ready to go home or he’ll miss his flight.

Harry helps him pack, taking out the clothes Louis tosses carelessly into his suitcase and folding them before putting them back. “They’re gonna get wrinkles, Lou,” he says with a frown, shaking his head in despair.

“Does it really matter? If I wear them for a bit the creases will work themselves out anyway.” Harry looks horrified, so Louis stops arguing and just lets Harry pack for him. Harry seems to strangely enjoy it, humming away to himself as he folds.

The ride back to the airport is subdued. Louis keeps telling himself that Harry will be back from tour in three weeks, but it still does little to quiet the empty feeling in his stomach. He’s actually going to really miss him, going to miss this little bubble they’ve been living in the past few days.

“So, I actually have something to give you,” starts Harry, as they pull up to the airport. “I mean, with Niall flying out in a couple of days, I won’t really have anyone to look after my house while I’m away.” He rubs his hands on his thighs, before digging into his pocket. “And, uh, I was thinking you could maybe pop round there every so often? Water the plants. Or do whatever, I don’t care. Um.” He pulls out his hand and holds it out, and there in his palm is a key.

“Is that the key to your house?” Louis is dumbfounded.

“Um, yes?” replies Harry, clearly nervous.

“You’re giving me the key to your house?” Louis asks again, dumbfounded.

“The plants do need regular watering…”

“Harry, you only have two. The orchid in the kitchen and that weird fern by the front door.”

“There’s also an aloe vera in one of the spare bedrooms,” Harry informs him. “And, uh, you could keep it for when I get back too? So you could like, come over whenever you felt like it? Um…”

Louis takes the key slowly from Harry’s grip. It feels a bit monumental for such a tiny scrap of metal. Harry’s giving him the key to his home. He’s _trusting_ him, and oh. Louis’ stomach starts to feel heavy with guilt, because Harry _shouldn’t_. Because at the end of the day Louis’ got a job to do, and that job involves selling Harry out.

Louis pockets the key anyway, and before he can stress himself out any further, he launches himself at Harry, pressing their lips together. Harry’s taken off guard, but he soon kisses back eagerly. When Louis pulls away, he rests his forehead against Harry’s.

“Thank you,” he mumbles softly, pecking Harry on the lips.

“Welcome,” Harry replies.

Louis glances down at his watch. “I have to go. I’ll miss my flight.”

Harry pouts adorably. “Don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t really want to go, if I’m honest. It’s just three weeks though, right? It’ll fly by.”

“It had better,” Harry says warningly, and then he’s leaning in to kiss Louis. Louis kisses him back, meaning to keep it short, but somehow he gets swept away in it.

Minutes later and Louis pulls away. “I really have to go, Haz.”

Harry whines but nods. “Three weeks?”

“Three weeks,” Louis confirms. “I’ll see you then.” He gives Harry another kiss, keeping it short despite the longing in his bones, and then he’s hoping out of the car, walking away from Harry with just a single backwards wave.

 

~*~

 

After the Prague trip, Louis has to get by on quick texts to Harry and his own hand again. Only now it feels like that’s not enough. And to Louis’ horror he finds it’s not just the sex he misses, but everything. He misses ordering a Chinese and then curling up on the sofa with Harry to watch some dumb movie. He misses waking up next to Harry, getting to see him soft and sleepy in the early morning light.

Work isn’t exactly pleasant either. He’s made absolutely no progress on writing an article about Harry, unless a few scribbled sentences about witnessing Harry buy some pizza for a group of homeless men counts. According to Cowell, it most definitely doesn’t. Apparently ‘ _nobody cares about that shit_ ’.

The key burns a hole in his pocket, and Louis’ well aware he could use it. Go over to Harry’s, rifle through his drawers, try to uncover something, anything, but he doesn’t. He _can’t_. Even the mere thought makes him feel sick with guilt. Instead he ends up burying the key somewhere in his sock drawer, and tries not to think about it.

Cowell is clearly angry with him, giving him even more stupid and meaningless tasks to do, like creating a new filing system for the old archives, and ringing around printing companies to see who can give the best deal on a bulk order of business cards. Meanwhile, Perrie, the intern, is writing actual articles and tossing Louis sympathetic looks. Louis knows Cowell is punishing him, trying to give him a taste of what life would be like if he fucks up the big Styles story, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Louis is thankful when Harry’s birthday rolls around the next week. Normally Harry’s too busy for more than a quick text or a five minute phone call, but he has a bit of time free the night before he’s due to turn twenty-two, and he and Louis have arranged to Skype.

Harry’s playing a show in Berlin, so he won’t be able to get to a computer before half ten London time. Louis sits at his desk in his bedroom, watching the clock tick down. Honestly, he feels a little pathetic, but he’s been looking forward to it all week, stupidly excited about the fact he actually gets to speak to Harry face-to-face for the first time in what feels like ages. Besides, he thinks, looking at the bag lying on his bed, he went shopping earlier and he’s got something special planned for Harry.

Finally it hits half ten, and Louis signs into Skype. Harry’s already online, and within seconds he’s got an incoming call. He immediately accepts, glad he’s not the only one coming across over-eager.

"Hey!" comes Harry's voice, excited.

"Hold on," Louis tells him, the screen on his computer woefully black.  “I still have no picture. Wait a second... There!" Harry's face flickers into view. He looks beautiful, curls held back with a headband and a floral shirt half-unbuttoned. "God is it good to see your face," Louis says out loud.

Harry smiles warmly. "Same. I've missed you."

"Is Niall not taking care of your needs then?"

"Not like you, Lou. There's no one like you.” Louis feels himself blush at the look on Harry’s face, soft and open.

“So how does it feel to be twenty-two?” he asks, clearing his throat and hoping Harry can’t see the redness in his cheeks.

“I’m not twenty-two yet. Not for another...” Harry pauses as he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“I get to watch you age before my very eyes,” Louis says, wiping away a fake tear.

Harry rolls his eyes, but his face is fond. “You’re an idiot.”

Louis just shrugs. “I bet you’ve missed my idiocy, Styles.”

“If I did I’d never admit it,” Harry replies.

They chat for a while, Harry filling Louis in on the past week, although Louis already knows most of it from Harry’s text. He doesn’t mind the retelling though, enjoying listening to Harry speak and watching his excited facial expressions, and exaggerated hand gestures. Louis finds himself

"Happy birthday," he says as the clock finally hits eleven, and midnight in Berlin. "Any plans for the big day?"

"Busy all day," Harry replies with a disgruntled expression. “I've got an album signing and then I've got to play at a radio station and do an interview. But after that I think I'm heading out tomorrow night with Niall and some of the crew. Niall said he was organising something.”

"Sounds like fun," Louis remarks.

"Yeah. Wish you could be there though," Harry laments. Louis doesn’t say that he wishes the same thing, ignoring the small ping of _want_ in his heart. He misses Harry far too much, more than he should.

“I’ve been rambling on about my week for ages,” Harry says suddenly. “Tell me what you’ve been up to? Made any progress on your book?”

“Um, a little, I guess,” Louis replies evasively. He hates this, hates having to lie to Harry about what he spends his days doing. It makes him feel increasingly uncomfortable, especially when Harry seems so interested, always asking him questions and asking to read something he’s written, offering encouragement whenever Louis bullshits something about a meeting with an agent or publisher.

An irritatingly familiar seed of guilt forms in the pit of his stomach, and Louis changes the subject quickly before Harry can ask him anything else.

"You know,” he tells him, shuffling around in his seat, “I actually have a present for you." He feels nervous; he's never done something like this before, and he doesn’t want to make an idiot of himself.  
  
"Yeah?" asks Harry, clearly curious.   
  
"You want it now?"  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow. "Now? How are you gonna manage that from London?"  
  
Louis smirks. "Well, it's more of a visual present. Stay right there, I'll be back.” He hops up from the chair so Harry can no longer see him.

"This'd better be good!” Harry calls from the computer. “You've gotten me excited now!”

“Wait and see!” Louis shouts back, hoping Harry can hear him when he’s away from the microphone. It’s kind of necessary for what he’s planning. He grabs some supplies and lays them out on his bedside locker, before grabbing the laptop and angling it so that it has a clear view of his bed. Then Louis stands in front of it, and takes a deep breath, before pulling his T-shirt off over his head.

"Louis?" asks Harry. “What are you doing?”

"Just shush," Louis instructs, "you can talk later." He unbuttons his trousers next and pulls them down, stepping out of them as they pool around his feet. There’s nothing really sexy about it, but Louis’ nervous enough about this as it is. He just wants to get his clothes off as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

The silence in his room is making him feel self-conscious. He can feel Harry’s attention focused on him, and it feels like he’s performing for him. It’s making him a little anxious, until Harry speaks up. "You look so good Louis. Wish I could get my mouth on you."

Louis smiles at Harry’s words, and they give him the confidence to pull down his underwear and stand in front of his computer completely naked.   
  
He makes his way over to the bed next and sits down facing the camera. “Wish you could have your mouth on me too.” he says. He runs a hand down his chest, pausing at his right nipple to play with it a little. He looks at the computer screen, but it’s too far away for him to make out Harry’s expression.

“What would you do to me first, if you were here now?"

Harry catches on quickly. “I'd get my mouth on your nipples,” he says. “I'd bite them, suck them.

Louis pinches his nipples in response to Harry's words, feeling them stiffen beneath his fingers. “Fuck Harry, it feels good.”

“Then I'd kiss my way down your stomach 'til I got to your cock.”

“Yeah?” asks Louis, dropping a hand down. He's desperate to stroke himself.

“But I wouldn't touch it,” Harry interjects quickly, stilling Louis’ movements. The bastard. “I'd kiss around it; play with your balls a little. Tease you until you were begging for me.”

Louis fondles his balls, imagining it's Harry's lips, Harry's fingers. His dick has stiffened slightly, and Louis really wants to touch himself, to stroke himself to full hardness. “Harry, please,” he whines.

“Yeah, okay. Touch yourself. I want to see it.”

Louis can't wrap a hand around himself fast enough, pumping his cock quickly. “Go slower,” Harry instructs. “Twist your hand a little.” Harry's voice has gone breathy, and Louis even though Louis can only see him from the waist up on the screen, he can tell Harry's started touching himself.

“Fuck, Louis. You look gorgeous, you know.” Louis feels it, with Harry’s gaze on him. The fact that Harry’s getting off on this, on watching Louis masturbate, makes Louis gasp and his toes curl.

“Harry,” he moans. He really wants to move his hand faster, wants to chase his release, but also he wants  _more_. “Want you inside me,” he gasps out.

“Fuck Louis. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Um, I have... I have some toys. Like, I have a vibrator. If you want. I can pretend... pretend it's your cock.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and then-

“ _Shit_ , Louis! Are you trying to make me come already?”

Louis laughs breathlessly. “You want me to get it, then?”

“Is that even a question? Shit.”

Louis reaches over and pulls out a purple vibrator. It’s ambitiously big, but Louis had spent a while earlier opening himself up, so he thinks he’ll be okay. He shows the vibrator to the camera, hoping Harry can see it properly, then lies back on the bed. He coats some fingers in a generous layer of lube, then trails them down his perineum. He’s circling his hole, about to push one in when Harry interrupts.

“Can you spread your legs wider, baby? Wanna see you better.” Louis does as he’s told, shuffling his legs further apart. He can’t imagine how he looks to Harry, wanton and exposed, completely on display, but from the appreciative groan Harry makes he must enjoy the view.

Louis fingers himself slowly, more than he really needs too, savouring Harry’s frustrated little whines. His discomfort is melting away, and he finds himself basking in Harry’s attention, feeling completely in control.

Finally Louis picks the vibrator up, hearing the hum as he switches it on. He keeps it at a low speed, running it over his balls and crack, avoiding his hole for a moment. He can feel himself clench with arousal, desperate to feel the hardness inside him, but he draws the moment out, letting both himself and Harry enjoy the anticipation.

Eventually Louis can’t wait any longer, moving the vibrator towards his hole. He feels himself stretch around it as he pushes it in, that familiar burn laced with pleasure. “Fuck Louis, you look so good,” Harry breathes, and Louis moans in reply, unable to do much more.

He fucks himself fast with the vibrator, gliding it over his prostate and teasing himself until he’s mewling into his duvet. He’s ready to bring himself off, his free hand inching towards his dick, when Harry interrupts.

“Stop. Go slower.”

“Harry,” Louis whines, but does as he’s told, pumping the vibrator in and out of himself with agonising slowness. The vibrations are making his legs quiver, longing for some kind of release. “ _Please_.”

“What do you want, baby?” Louis’ glad that he can detect a hint of shakiness in Harry’s voice.

“Wanna touch myself. Please.”

“Not yet. Keep going.”

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis whines, as he buries the vibrator deeper into himself. His vision flickers, swarmed with pleasure as he feels it pulse inside him. He’s gasping for air, hips bucking uncontrollably as he rides down on the vibrator.

“I’m gonna come, Louis. You look so hot, fuck!” Harry grunts, voice strained. Louis knows when Harry comes, recognises that deep, guttural groan. It’s incredibly hot, and Louis can feel his eyes roll back in his head as he chases his own release. It only takes a few more brushes against his prostate before Louis follows suit, back arching off the mattress as he shoots across his own stomach.

The vibrator is still buzzing inside him and making him wince at the oversensitivity and Louis fumbles to remove it. He lies there afterwards, messy and panting, body feeling heavy and lethargic.

“That was incredible,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, smirking up at the camera. “Liked it then?”

“Liked it? I fucking loved it. My own private sex show.”

“Just for you,” Louis tells him. “Happy birthday, Haz.”

They chat for a little while longer, until Harry’s yawning and Louis’ eyelids are drooping.

“Guess I’d better go,” Harry says. “Gotta get up early for thatinterview tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis agrees. “Have fun tomorrow night, yeah? And don’t let Niall make you do too many shots.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes there’s no stopping that boy,” Harry replies, smiling.

“‘Night, Haz.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

 

~*~

 

 

 

Louis gets ready for work on Friday morning in a great mood. Not only is it almost the weekend, but Harry was out celebrating his birthday the night before and Louis woke with a text on his phone from the birthday boy that read ' _im isss uou. Nail is byin me ssshots'_. He knows a drunken text doesn't mean a lot, but it shows Harry was thinking about him even when he was out with his friends, and the thought makes Louis smile.

 

He gets to work with a spring in his step for once, picking up a tea for himself and a coffee for Zayn along the way. He heads over to Zayn’s desk, finding the other man already working.

“Morning, Zee!” he practically sings. “Got you a coffee.” He places the cup down on the desk.

“Oh Louis, there you are,” Zayn greets him. He looks confused. “Why are you so happy? I thought you’d be upset.”

“Upset about what?” Louis replies, puzzled now himself.

“About Harry.”

“What about Harry? I mean, it’s shit that we weren’t able to spend his birthday together, but it’s fine.”

“No, I mean-” Zayn pauses. “You haven’t looked online yet, have you?”

Louis feels icy pinpricks of dread run down his back. “Should I?”

“Uh...”

“ _Zayn_. Just tell me!”

“There’s just some pictures of Harry out last night in Berlin. The MailOnline got a hold of them but I think they’re circulating around everywhere by now.” Zayn looks at Louis with pity in his eyes, and it does nothing to assuage Louis’ fears.

“Look them up,” Louis demands, pointing at Zayn’s computer. “Look them up, I want to see.”

Zayn looks unhappy, but Louis gives him a look that brooks no argument, and with a sigh Zayn turns to his computer and brings up the MailOnline article. The headline itself is enough to make Louis’ heart constrict.

 

**EXCLUSIVE: BAD Boy Harry Can’t Be Tamed As He Leaves Berlin Nightclub With TWO Women.**

 

Louis immediately berates himself. The women could be anybody. They were probably part of his crew, his stylists or something. Harry had complained before about the fact the press linked him with every woman he was within ten feet of.

But then Louis recalls Zayn mentioned something about pictures. Without warning he nudges Zayn out of the way to grab the mouse.

Scrolling down through the article is... heart wrenching. It’s interspersed with countless pictures of Harry, looking dazed and bleary-eyed, as two women, a blonde and a brunette, cling to his arms either side of him. They definitely don’t look like simply friends.

“It might not be what it looks like,” he says anyway. His voice sounds distant to him over the blood pounding in his ears.

“Lou,” Zayn starts, and Louis knows that tone. It’s the tone he used when Louis turned up on his doorstep, crying his eyes out because he’d discovered Aiden had been cheating on him. It’s the tone he used when Louis was still just an intern at Real Exposure, and he’d accidentally destroyed an entire batch of photocopying, and thought for sure he’d ruined his chances of the newspaper ever offering him paid employment. It’s that sympathetic, too careful tone, and Louis can’t stand it.

“It’s fine,” Louis says quickly. “Absolutely fine.” He hopes Zayn can’t hear the tremor in his voice. “Harry can see who he likes, we aren’t… we aren’t exclusive or anything. Fuck, we aren’t even in a relationship. Not really. We just… we just fuck.”

“You do more than just fuck, Louis, and you know it,” Zayn says quietly. “You just got back from a holiday with him.” The office is starting to fill up with people arriving to work, and Louis takes several deep breaths to compose himself.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “Harry can fuck who he likes, and so can I.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so if we went out tonight you’d totally try and get laid,” he says, clearly sceptical.

“I would!”

“Really?” Zayn raises his eyebrows.

“Yes! In fact, let’s do it. Let’s go out tonight. Me, you and Liam. Like old times.”

“Louis, maybe you should just talk to Harry—”

“We’re going out, and that’s final. Now get to work Malik; that shit cooking program on Channel 4 won’t review itself!” He claps Zayn on the shoulder and then walks away before the other man can get a word in.

Fuck Harry Styles, and his stupid fucking hair, and his fucking pretentious hipster music. Louis doesn’t need him. He’s just got to get through work today, and then tonight he can he can find someone and show everyone exactly how little Harry Styles means to him.

*

Louis’ strangely nervous heading out that night. It used to be routine for him at one point, picking up a stranger from a club, bringing him home and hoping he leaves a number in the morning. But he hasn’t been clubbing in ages, and Zayn and Liam keep tossing him pitiful glances that make him want to scream, and that make little bubbles of nerves swim in his stomach.

As they walk inside, Zayn pulls Louis close and murmurs, “We’ll leave anytime you want, okay?” Louis just shakes him off without a word and heads straight to the bar, ordering two shots of Jager to start. He’s going to get well and truly fucked tonight, in every sense of the word.

Zayn and Liam crowd up at the bar beside him, ordering beers. They seem perfectly content to stand around and chat over the music, but Louis is a man with a mission, so he decides to go dance.

Louis’ eyes keep scanning the dancefloor. It’s packed with men, sweaty and grinding up against each other, but Louis can’t seem to find anyone who really captures his attention. One guy catches his eye and winks at him, but he’s too blond, too muscular, so Louis just averts his gaze with a small shake of his head.

He ends up dancing with a few lads, grinding his back up against their chests, but whenever they spin him around and try to kiss him, Louis pushes away. It just doesn’t feel right. None of these guys are who he really wants.

Eventually Louis gives up and heads to the toilets. He might go find Zayn and Liam after, and see if they can head home.  He doesn’t exactly want to concede defeat, but the night’s clearly been a waste, and the alcohol he’s taken has just made him feel more tired than buzzed. He’s just finished at the urinal and his washing his hands at the sink, when he hears a voice behind him.

“You don’t look like you’re having the best night.”

Louis glances up at the mirror, and he immediately makes eye contact with the man. He’s good looking, with dark brown hair and some light stubble on his jaw. He seems a bit older than Louis, maybe mid-thirties, and he’s sharply dressed, in navy trousers and a light blue shirt.

“I’m not, to be honest,” Louis says, moving to dry his hands under the dryer.

“You want to tell me about it? I’ll buy you a drink?” the man offers.

Louis considers it. He hasn’t really been at the club for that long really, and they guy seems nice enough. Louis definitely would’ve given him a shot pre-Harry.

It’s that thought really that drives him say, “ _One_ drink. And only if you tell me your name.”

The man smiles. “It’s Ben.”

“Hello, Ben. I’m Louis.”

*

It turns out Ben is basically perfect. He’s clever and witty, going toe to toe with Louis and keeping up with his banter perfectly. He matches Louis’ acerbic tongue with dry humour, and their conversation never feels stilted or awkward. Ben’s found them some seats around the side of the bar, and when Louis finishes his drink, he hops up straightaway and gets him another.

“So. Louis. What do you do for a living?” Ben asks eventually.

“I’m a journalist actually. I work for Real Exposure.” Ben makes an impressed sound, so Louis hastens to add, “I’m just small fry at the moment, but I’m working my way up the rungs. What about you?”

“I’m a director.” It turns out Ben works for a production company, and they make everything from short films, to music videos, to television programs. Some of which Louis’ even watched.

“No way!” he exclaims. “You guys made that documentary about the kleptomaniac cat? That was fucking incredible.”

Ben chuckles. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“ _Enjoyed_ it? It changed my life.”

They talk for a little longer, Ben telling Louis about various projects he’s working on. It all sounds so interesting and exciting, and Louis’ truly captivated. He doesn’t even notice that Ben’s leaned in closer until he places a hand on Louis’ knee.

“Listen, Louis, do you maybe want to get out of here? I have a room at the Athenaeum.” He’s crowded in close, stroking his thumb against Louis’ thigh, and Louis can’t help but nod. Ben smiles. “Great. I’ll grab my jacket from the cloakroom, just wait here.” Louis nods again, feeling a little breathless, as Ben stands up and leaves.

Almost the second Ben’s gone however, Louis feels another pair of eyes on him. He looks around to find that the blond, muscular guy from earlier is staring at him. He licks his lips when he sees Louis looking, and Louis shudders. Definitely, definitely not. He decides to go after Ben rather than stick around and wait for the creep to approach him.

He finds Ben by the cloakroom, shrugging into his jacket. Just as Louis gets close, something falls from the pocket of the jacket and clinks onto the ground, bouncing a couple of times.

“I’ll get it,” Louis offers, bending down to pick it up. It’s hard to see in the dim light of the club, but it looks like a coin.

“No, Louis, it’s alright. Let me,” Ben says hastily, crouching down beside him. His hand shoots out, but Louis’ fingers have already wrapped about the object and, oh. It’s not a coin, it’s a… ring.

Louis straightens and holds the ring up to the light to examine it. It’s a simple band, thin and gold, and Louis feels his heart sink when he looks at it.

“This is a wedding ring,” he states, feeling a bit sick.

Ben holds up his hands. “Louis, it’s not what you think,” he says, but the guilt is painted all over his face.

“You piece of shit,” Louis hisses. He throws the ring at Ben’s face, not caring where it lands, and then storms away, leaving Ben to scramble after it. His blood is boiling but underneath his anger there’s a too familiar stab of betrayal. His hands are shaking and he just wants to scream, or punch something, or cry. Maybe all three.

He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. It’s not even about Ben, not really. Louis didn’t even know the guy. He’s just sick of every guy he meets being a fucking asshole. It’s like he has a sign hanging around his neck saying ‘doormat’, and ‘gullible’, and ‘only good for a quick fucking shag’.

He gets to the bar, trying to find Zayn and Liam and tell them he’s past ready to go home, but the two are nowhere to be seen. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick ‘ _where are you?_ ’ text to Zayn. While he waits for a reply, he asks the barman for two shots of sambuca, downing them quickly. Might as well get as pissed as he can before he has to go, seeing as how the night was a complete fucking failure in every other respect.

Zayn isn’t texting back and the shots, as well as Ben’s drinks earlier, are really beginning to take effect. Louis feels unsteady and emotional, and he decides to go and search for Zayn and Liam himself to save him having a breakdown at the bar.

Louis winds up at one of the quiet outdoor smoking areas, having scoured the club and finding no sign of his friends. He pulls his phone free from his pocket again, checking to see if Zayn’s text him back. Instead, he finds a text from Harry.

It takes him a few tries to open it, which is always a bad sign. The text reads, ‘ _Louis I really need to talk to you. Please ring me as soon as you get this xx._ ’

And well, there’s no time like the present, is there? He’s got a few choice words he’d like to say to Harry as well. Louis pulls up Harry’s contact details and hits dial.

Louis listens to the phone ring for a few seconds, before Harry answers. “Louis, hey. I’m so glad you rang-”

“You listen to me, Harry,” Louis cuts him off. “You think I need you, but I don’t.”

“Louis, what on earth are you talking about?” Harry sounds confused, and for some reason that makes Louis angry.

“I’m talking about you, and Ben, and all the other dickheads. I am _fine_ on my own, and I don't need any of you!”

“Who’s Ben? Louis, are you drunk? You’re slurring your words.”

“‘M out. With Liam and Zayn, but I can’t find them anywhere,” Louis divulges.

“Okay, well go look for them. But just stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

“I already looked for them,” Louis replies petulantly, but he does what Harry tells him, leaving the smoking area and heading back inside.

Harry keeps chatting to him, and Louis has to strain to hear him over the music. “I really wanted to talk to you, Louis. Niall’s shown me the news, and I really need to explain. It’s not what it looks like.”

Louis scoffs. _It’s not what it looks like_. That’s the second time tonight he’s heard those words. They don’t sound any better coming from Harry.

“I didn’t sleep with them, either of them. I was so drunk I could barely even tell you what they looked like. They came back to the hotel with me, but then my security kicked them out, I swear.”

“Why are you even telling me this, Harry?” Louis sighs, drunkenly maudlin.

“Because-”

“Louis!” a voice shouts, and then Zayn’s wrapped around him. “There you are, mate.”

“We were looking for you everywhere,” Liam chimes in, standing beside him. “Thought you might have left.”

“I was looking for you too. I text Zayn,” Louis tells them. He points at his phone, then turns his attention back to Harry. “Har-”

“Actually, Louis,” Harry interrupts, “I think I’ll ring you tomorrow. It’s probably better to talk when you’re sober, yeah?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright. Talk to you tomorrow then. Tell Zayn and Liam I say hi.”

“I will. Bye, Harry.”

“Bye.”

Louis hangs up and turns back to his friends. “Harry?” Zayn questions.

“Yeah, he says hi. I don’t really want to talk about it right now, to be honest. Can we just go?”

“Yeah, mate, sure. You wanna stay at ours tonight?” Liam asks.

Louis nods his head. “Please.”

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s go grab a taxi.”

*

Louis wakes up the neck morning with a dry mouth and a stiff neck from the way he’s been lying on Zayn and Liam’s sofa. Clinking sounds coming from the kitchen mean he’s not the only one up, and Louis slowly pulls himself into a sitting position.

His vision spins a little when he stands, but he’s been in worse states after a night of drinking so he counts himself lucky. He shuffles to the kitchen, finding Zayn stirring some sugar into a cup of tea.

“That wouldn’t happen to be for me? Zee, you know I don’t take tea with sugar.” he croaks.

Zayn looks over at him and scoffs. “Very funny. Get your own; you know where the teabags are.”

Louis grumbles, but roots through the cupboards anyway, getting himself a cup and teabag before flicking on the kettle. “Where’s Li?” he asks, as Zayn takes a seat at the kitchen table, “Still asleep?”

“Hardly, mate, it’s past one. He got called into work actually, he’s been gone hours.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear him leave.”

“I’m not surprised; you’ve been dead to the world all morning.”

Louis finishes making his tea, then sits down next to Zayn. The first mouthful is incredible, doing wonders for his parched throat.

“So…, last night,” Zayn starts.

Louis groans. “Can we not? Can we just pretend last night didn’t happen?”

“Thought you were meant to find yourself a man. Liam and I saw to talking to that businessman-looking guy, what happened there?”

“He was an arsehole, like they all are. Already married. I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis mumbles, looking down at his hands. He knows what Zayn’s expression will be, and frankly he doesn’t want to see it.

Zayn reaches across the table and places his hand on Louis’. “I’m sorry, mate,” he commiserates, and Louis can hear the pity. It’s everything he doesn’t want.

Louis shakes his hand off. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

Zayn drops it, fortunately. “So what did Harry have to say for himself then?”

Louis’ eyes widen. “ _Shit_ , I rang Harry!”

Zayn laughs. “You _forgot_?”

Louis glares at him. “I was very drunk, okay? Ugh, I’m having flashbacks to it now.”

“Well, what did he say?” Zayn asks.

“I’m not sure; it’s a bit of a blur, but... That he didn’t sleep with those women? I think that’s what he said.”

“You reckon? That’s good then, isn’t it?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, suppose. I think he realised pretty quickly that I was drunk, so he said he’d ring back today.”

“Probably a good idea,” Zayn notes. “You weren’t making a lot of sense. Just yelling down the phone and calling him a dickhead.”

“Oh no…”

“Yep,” Zayn says, popping the ‘p’. “Some pretty strong emotions going on.”

“What are you getting at, Zee?”

“I’m just saying. You’re meant to be writing a story about Harry. That’s all this was supposed to be, a way to get close to him. But it seems to that there’s some genuine feelings going on.”

Louis shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it, Lou? I saw the look on your face when you thought Harry had slept with those girls. You were devastated. And then dragging me and Liam out so you could go on the pull? That’s classic Louis. You do that after every single break up you’ve ever had. Your way of getting over someone. And I know you’ve barely written a word of that article since Prague. You haven’t even been trying.”

“I just… haven’t had any inspiration,” Louis argues weakly. He’s losing this one and he knows it. Zayn just gives him a sceptical look, and Louis caves. “Fine! _May_ be I might like Harry. He’s a nice guy, I don’t know.” He rubs a hand up and down his arm, eyes cast to the ground.

He can practically feel Zayn’s gaze soften, and then he’s been drawn into a hug. “Oh, Lou.”

He buries into Zayn, inhaling the familiar scent of Zayn’s cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. “I’m a bit screwed, aren’t I?” he asks in a small voice. “What am I going to do?”

“Like you said, Harry’s a nice guy. You like him, he seems to like you. Maybe this could all work out?”

Louis snorts. “How the fuck would that happen? I’ve been lying to him since the moment I met him. Even if there weren’t a million and one other reasons why this whole thing is fucked, that’s no foundation to build a relationship on! And if I came clean, told Harry the truth about everything, he’d never want to speak to me again. And Simon would fire me straightaway. I’d be unemployed and all alone with nothing to show for myself.”

Zayn rubs his back. “It could be worth the risk. You never know until you try, right?”

Louis sighs. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll think about it.”

 

~*~

 

Louis’ phone rings as he’s right in the middle of a daytime repeat of Masterchef. He considers not answering it, because he doesn’t want to miss Gregg and John ripping into Susan for her disastrous crème brûlée. Eventually though his curiosity gets the better of him, and he grabs his phone, surprised to see Harry’s name flashing up on the screen.

“Can’t get enough of me, Styles?” he asks after he hits answer. Things with him and Harry have been a little strained ever since Harry’s birthday, but Louis is doing his best at glossing over that fact using casual humour. It’s a tried and tested tactic for him.

“Clearly I can’t,” Harry replies, smile evident in his voice, “Answer your door.”

“What?”Louis asks, confused. However, the end of his question is met by a series of raps on his front door.

“Harry?” Louis tries, but the phone line’s gone dead. Louis stares at his phone stupidly until the knocks on the door sound again.

Louis hops off the sofa and races to the door, pulling it open as fast as he can. On the other side stands Harry, bags strewn about his feet. “Surprise!”

“Harry!” Louis exclaims. He throws himself at the other boy, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow.”

“I caught an earlier flight back,” Harry tells him, squeezing him back just as hard. “I missed you, and after the last week I really had to see you.”

“Come in, quickly,” Louis says, dragging him inside, “Before the neighbours start wondering what’s going on.” He lets go of Harry to grab his bags and pull them inside too. Finally, with the door closed and it just the two of them, he launches himself at Harry again.

“God, I missed you too,” he breathes, “I can’t believe you’re here.” Then he’s kissing Harry hard, putting everything he has into it. It’s like all the frustration, the uncertainty, of the last week melted away the instant he set eyes on Harry. Louis had been unsure where he stood with Harry since that drunken phone call. They’d spoken, and Harry had assured him in no uncertain terms that nothing had happened with those two girls. Louis believed him, but it had still left them on edge, and created a strange awkwardness between them that had never been there before.

Harry kisses him back just as eagerly, all clacking teeth and gasping breath. Louis’ hands find his way inside Harry’s jacket, and he reaches up to push it of his shoulders. Harry lets the jacket fall to the ground but then he wraps his hands around Louis’ wrists, stilling him.

“I really want to talk to you,” Harry mumbles out between kisses. “There’s so much I,” kiss, “I need to explain,” kiss, “ _Louis_.” Harry tries to pull away, but Louis won’t let him, _can’t_ let him. He shakes his arms free of Harry’s grasp, then threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, pulling his head down and forcing their lips to meet. Harry seems to waver between kissing him back and pulling back, so Louis trails a hand down between them and rubs Harry through his jeans.

“We can talk later. Want you,” he grits out. “Want your cock. Want you inside me. It’s been too long.”

“Shit,” Harry hisses, and then all resistance is gone. Harry’s tearing at Louis’ clothes, animalistic. Louis’ sure he can hear his shirt ripping as it’s pulled off him, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but Harry, and Harry’s mouth, and Harry’s cock, and the way Harry’s pulling him towards the bedroom.

Afterwards, when they’re lying tangled in the bedsheets, both sweaty and sated and Louis with come still drying on his belly, Louis can’t remember the last time he'd felt so content. When it’s him and Harry, everything makes sense. It scares him, it does, how just being next to Harry can make him feel so at peace, but for now he doesn’t want to worry about it. He just wants to lie in silence and bask in Harry’s presence.

Harry, however, has other ideas. It isn’t long before Louis feels him moving, and when he turns to look, Harry’s climbing out of bed. “Where are you going?” Louis asks with a frown.

“Relax, baby, I’m just going to get some tissues and clean you up. But then we have to talk, yeah?” Harry looks serious, so Louis just nods, pulling himself up into the sitting position. Harry comes back and wipes him down, rubbing damp tissues over his stomach gently, before tossing them in the wastepaper bin. He sits down on the bed beside Louis, but instead of speaking he stares down at his hands.

Harry clearly doesn’t know how to begin, so Louis decides to help him out and start off the conversation. “Harry, if this is about those girls in Berlin, you don’t owe me an explanation-”

“It’s not about them,” Harry says, cutting them him off. “Not really. It’s more about what they made me realise.”

He’s fiddling with his thumbs, not looking at Louis, and Louis suddenly feels a wave of iciness wash over him. He’s been on the receiving end of far too many break up talks, and this is how they all started, with a realisation. _We’re just too different_ … _It’s not working out_ … _I’m just not ready to settle down_ … Louis’ heard them all, but somehow it feels worse this time. It feels worse coming from Harry.

“What did you realise then?” he asks, his voice cold. “That you missed it? Missed the whole groupie lifestyle, or whatever the fuck you were doing before?”

“No! No, god Louis, definitely not!” Harry’s looking at him now, but there’s anger in his eyes. “You still think I’m that shallow? Really? After all this time, you still think I’m some stupid popstar, incapable of thinking with anything other than his dick?”

Louis knows Harry well enough by now to hear the hurt laden beneath his anger, and he immediately feels guilty. “Shit, Harry, I don’t think of you like that, I promise,” he rushes to say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, okay? It’s just…”

“Just?” Harry prompts.

“Just, I’ve had these kinds of conversations before, and they’ve never ended particularly well for me,” Louis explains quietly. “I was stupid, and I jumped to conclusions, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Luckily his anger seems to have dissipated into something a little more understanding. “Louis, I’m not like that. I really thought you knew.”

“I do, I do!” Louis assures him, “I panicked, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, really. My mind always just jumps to worst case scenarios, I can’t help it.”

Harry shakes his head, but he seems to accept Louis’ apology. “This isn’t a bad thing. At least, I don’t think it is. It’s just… It got me thinking, you know? About seeing other people. And the fact that I haven’t been.”

“Oh,” Louis says, voice small. He’s still a bit scared about where all this is going, but it’s nice to hear Harry hasn’t been with anyone else.

“And, uh, the fact that I don’t really want to, either.”

And, _oh_. What? Louis frowns. He can’t be understanding Harry right.

“You don’t want to what?” he asks, for clarification’s sake.

Harry looks down at his hands, and his mouth opens and closes for several seconds. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and says “I just think as long as we’re doing this… this _thing_ , we could just y’know, keep it at just us.”

“As in?” Louis knows he sounds dense, but he really needs Harry to spell this one out for him. Now’s not the time for any confusion.

Harry takes a deep breath, then explains, “As in I won’t sleep with anyone else, and you won’t either. If you want.”

“We’d be exclusive?” Louis asks. Harry makes a face, but nods. “I think I’d like that. I, um, haven’t been with anyone else either,” he admits. “So I guess it wouldn’t be that different from what we’re doing already anyway.”

Harry smiles at that, a genuine one that makes his eyes brighten. “I’m, um, I’m glad. That you want to be exclusive, and also, you know, that you haven’t been with anyone…” Harry trails off, glancing down at his hands for a moment. He seems to be steeling himself, and when he lifts his head back up to look at Louis there’s determination in his eyes.

“Lou—”

It’s at that precise moment that Louis’ phone starts ringing, interrupting whatever Harry’s about to say. Louis glances at it, but he fully intends to ignore it. Harry, however, shakes his head as if to clear it, and then prods Louis in the side. “Answer it,” he urges, “I wasn’t saying anything important.”

Louis hesitates still, wary of Harry’s uneasiness, but Harry just plasters a false looking smile on his face and says, “Go on, I don’t mind. I’m actually just going to put the kettle on for some tea anyway.”

He jumps out of bed before Louis can stop him, and whatever moment was happening between them is definitely completely ruined.  Louis just sighs. “Yeah okay,” he says to Harry’s retreating back, grabbing his phone off his bedside locker.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Lou!” comes Zayn’s voice through the speaker. “How are you?”

“I’m good, mate. What’s up?”

“Well, me and Liam were actually wondering if you want to come over and watch the Man U and Liverpool game this evening? We’ve got in a crate of beers, thought we’d make a night of it”

“Um, Harry’s here actually. He came home a day early.” Harry wanders back into the room, raising his eyebrows at the mention of his name. _It’s Zayn_ , Louis mouths, and Harry nods in understanding.

“Bring him along,” Zayn suggests. “The more the merrier.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll ask him.”  Harry’s looking at him inquisitively. Louis can hear the kettle beginning to bubble away in the background.

“Send me a text later, yeah? Let me know if you two are up for it.”

“Alright, talk to you later Zee.”

“See ya, Lou.”

Louis hangs up and turns his attention back to Harry. “Zayn wants to know if we want to go over to his later to watch the match. You up for it?”

Harry smiles. “Yeah sure, sounds fun. I actually have to go back to mine first to shower and change, if that’s okay. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a single clean pair of pants in any of those suitcases.”

“Sure, no problem. You could shower here either, and I could lend you a change of clothes?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “Thanks for the offer, but I should probably just check on my place anyway.” He’s pulling on the clothes he arrived in, not even bothering to button his shirt back up properly. “Um, I’ll probably send a driver round to collect all my suitcases, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” Louis responds, a bit taken aback by Harry’s sudden flurry of activity. “You’re leaving now? What about your tea? You just put the kettle on.”

“Um, yeah. I mean, I just realised how disgusting from travelling and everything. It kind of just hit me. I’m so sweaty and gross, I’m surprised you can even stand being in the same room as me. I really just want to have a shower as soon as possible, you know?” He chuckles, but it sounds hollow. He laces up his boots and grabs his phone from where he’d left it beside the bed. “Text me Zayn’s address and I’ll meet you there, okay?” he asks.

“Sure,” Louis agrees, a bit bewildered. “If that’s what you want.” He isn’t really sure what else to say.

Harry hesitates for a moment, before he walks over to Louis. He bends over and pecks him on the lips before muttering a quick “bye,” and then he’s gone, the sound of Louis’ front door closing echoing round the flat.

Louis sits in the silence that follows, thinking back on their conversation, on the last thing Harry had said before being interrupted. Harry had practically raced out the door, seemingly desperate to get away from him. Whatever Harry had been about to say seemed important, and Louis couldn’t help but get his hopes up. After all, Harry had said he didn’t want to sleep around or see other people. God, he’d asked if they could be exclusive for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t want to do that if Louis was just a fuck that meant nothing to him, surely. And whatever he’d been about to say… Louis didn’t want to get his hopes up, but...

But then Zayn had rang, and Harry had clearly lost his nerve. He furrows his brow, mentally cursing Zayn. He needs friends with better timing, honestly.

With his mind racing, Louis begins to consider the fact that Harry might have some kind of feelings for him. Is is possible after all, with how much time they’d been spending together these last few months. And Harry had been the one to suggest they should be exclusive…

The more Louis thinks about it, the more it makes sense to him. And maybe he was scared Louis didn’t feel the same way, which, okay. Louis can understand that. He knows it can be terrifying to tell someone you like them and to risk getting shot down. He _has_ been shot down, a few more times than his ego would really like.

His first ever crush had even rejected him, which wasn’t exactly the easiest introduction to the world of dating and relationships. It was back when he was fifteen and he realised he definitely liked Chris from the year above him. He’d overheard a group of girls in the hallway discussing how gorgeous his smile was, and he’d found himself mentally agreeing before he even realised what had happened.

Louis sighs, remembering the weeks of agonizing that followed. Louis had always suspected he wasn’t exactly straight. He got bored whenever his friends started talking about girls, and he’d always finding his eyes lingering on the male lead in whatever film he was watching. But he ignored those feelings, pushing them down and refusing to examine them any further.

He’d thought he could avoid confronting his feelings forever, if he was honest, before Chris. But everything changed when he realised he had feelings for another boy, an actual real life boy who went to his school. Seeing Chris every single day, being reminded of the way his heart would skip a beat just passing him in the hallways _every_ day, kind of forced him to confront his sexuality head on.

And it was awful. He knew his mother wouldn’t mind, and most of his friends were open-minded. God, Louis wasn’t even the only gay lad in the school, Michael from Year Five having come out the year before. But Louis was still scared. More than scared, even. Terrified. He just didn’t _want_ to be gay, he wanted to be _normal_.

It all came to a head at a party at the end of the school year. He’d gotten extremely drunk, and unfortunately managed to happen on Chris alone in the garden. He somehow got the idea in his head that if he explained how he felt to Chris, then somehow Chris would admit he felt it too, and they could ride off into the sunset together.

He’d ended up crying all over Stan, getting snot all down his shirt, and babbling out the story through drunken tears. He doesn’t really remember much after that, but he woke up the next morning to the hangover from hell, and a text from Stan that read, “ _You know I love you mate. I don’t mind that you’re gay. And ignore that fucking prick Chris. You’ll find someone else, someone way better xx_ ”.

Going back to school the next year and realising Chris had told everyone about what had happened at the party, that he had outed Louis to the entire school, had been horrific. No one had been mean to him about it, apart from one or two minor incidents, but still. Louis _hated_ the fact his choice had been taken away from him, and it had taken a long time before Louis could find the courage to tell a boy he liked him again.

He can, therefore, fully sympathise with Harry. Being the one to put yourself out there isn’t easy. Especially when you’re not sure about how the other person feels, how they could react...

Sighing, Louis throws himself back down onto his bed, determined to stop thinking so hard about Harry before he gives himself a headache. He’ll see Harry later on tonight and maybe he can get some answers then.

*

Louis heads to Zayn’s around six that evening, texting Harry when he’s on the way. It means that Harry gets there not long after he does, having found the place easily enough. When he shuffles into the living room he isn’t alone.

“I brought Niall,” he says, gesturing to the Irishman at his side. “I hope it’s not a problem. It’s just I was meant to watch the match with him and I totally forgot, and told Louis I’d watch it with you guys instead.”

“Definitely not a problem, mate,” Zayn waves off his excuses. “Like I told Lou, the more the merrier. Nice to meet you Niall, Louis’ told me loads.”

“Never shuts up about me, I bet,” Niall says with a wink towards Louis. Louis just gives him the finger in reply. “I brought a ton of beer if that makes up for the intrusion. It’s back out in the car. I just thought I’d make sure me being here wasn’t a problem before dragging it up all those stairs.”

Liam smiles. “I’ll give you a hand bringing it up, if you like?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’d appreciate it. ” The two of them head out of the room, Niall’s loud chattering fading into the distance as he drones on to Liam about god knows what.

“Sit down, Harry,” Zayn instructs, gesturing to the space on the couch beside Louis. Harry does as he’s told, giving Louis a decidedly tight smile and maintaining the tiniest bit of distance between them on the sofa. It’s almost the first time since he’d arrived that Harry’s even looked at him, and Louis frowns. Clearly what happened earlier is still bothering Harry. What _did_ happen earlier though? Louis still isn’t sure.

Zayn hasn’t picked up on the tension between them, and he starts chatting easily to Harry, asking him about the tour. Harry seems happy enough to answer his questions, and he visibly relaxes as he talks, leaning more into Louis’ side seemingly without realising. Louis wonders if he can put his arm around the other boy without him stiffening up again.

He’s just about to risk it, when the door of the flat opens and Niall and Liam come back in. Niall wasn’t exaggerating about the amount of beer he’d brought, with both men struggling to hold on to two twelve-packs each. They shuffle past into the kitchen, and Louis hears them groan in relief when they finally put the boxes down.

“We’re going to need some pizza or something to soak up all that alcohol,” Zayn notes. “I’ll grab my phone.”

Zayn leaves just as Niall and Liam come in. Niall squeezes himself down on Louis’ other side with a friendly “Alright, Tommo?” He’s clutching three beer bottles in his hands, but he makes no move to pass the spares on to Louis and Harry. Apparently, they’re all for him.

It’s Liam who hands them drinks in the end, handing them chilled bottles from the fridge just as Zayn finishes up ordering the pizza and comes back, sitting himself down on the sofa right by Liam’s side.

“Louis’ told us you’re Harry’s PA,” Zayn says to Niall, as Liam puts an arm around him. “How’d you land that job?”

“Aw, does Louis talk about me a lot?” Niall asks, looking at Louis with bright eyes.

“I only tell them bad things, trust me,” Louis tells him.

Niall just grins, not even slightly fazed. He turns back to Zayn. “Yeah I guess I’m his PA. We never really put an official title to it when Haz hired me though.”

“How _did_ that happen actually? I’ve never heard that story,” Louis says, suddenly curious.

“Oh,” Niall says. “It’s a funny story actually.  When I first moved to London I got a job at this bike rental place. Not the most glamorous place to work, but it was enough to pay my rent and bills so…” He shrugs. “Anyway, one day I was sitting at reception, bored out of my mind, and in walks Harry Styles. I recognised him straightaway; there was no way I couldn’t, to be honest. It was just when he was releasing his first album, and his face was everywhere.”

“He didn’t even try and act cool,” Harry cuts in with a laugh. “He just shouted ‘Holy shit, you’re Harry Styles!’ at me, then asked me for my autograph. I’d started getting a lot of that actually. Young lads asking for my autograph then pretending it was for their little sister or something. So I just sarcastically said, ‘Oh, is your sister a fan then?’”

“Didn’t have a fucking clue what he was on about,” Niall says. “I didn’t even have a sister. Anyway, got my picture, rented him a bike, off he went. Happy days.”

“Went back later in the day to return the bike,” Harry says, “and literally the second I got to the shop my phone rang. Someone from the label, saying my album had gotten to number one. I got so excited I crashed the bike straight into a wall. Bent the whole front wheel in half.”

“My manager was _not_ happy. Saw the whole thing happen from the shop window, and he ran out there, shouting about ‘destruction of property’. Harry was just sprawled on the ground, broken bike on top of him, half-dazed with this man yelling at him.”

“I was _hurt_ , and he only cared about the state of his bike. He was an arsehole,” Harry states decisively.

“He was,” Niall agrees. “Working for him was a nightmare. And when I saw him shouting at Harry like that I just had enough. I stormed out there, yelling right back at him for not helping Harry up, checking if he was alright. Told him I quit, right then and there, then I picked Harry up and dusted him off.”

“Didn’t think you had that in you, Horan,” Louis says, impressed.

“It’s the first and only time I’ve ever seen him get properly angry,” Harry informs him. It’s the first time he’s voluntarily spoken to Louis all night, and that fact doesn’t escape Louis’ notice. He tries not to make a big deal of it, just gives Harry a warm smile.

“Yeah, well,” Niall says, sounding embarrassed. “Didn’t like the way he was shouting at Harry. We ended up heading to the pub, me and Haz, to celebrate the album getting to number one. We stayed there for hours, got completely fucking hammered. Honestly I forget about the fact he was Harry Styles pretty quickly. Two pints in and he was Just Harry, and we were laughing like we were old friends.”

“Thinking back, I’m pretty sure I actually had a concussion. I really shouldn’t have been drinking,” Harry frowns.

“Anyway, we were talking, and it turned out Harry had been looking for someone to travel around with him. Organise his schedule, that sort of thing.” Niall shrugs. “He offered me the job and I took it. And the rest is history.”

“My management were furious.” Harry grins, “They’d been trying to get me to hire a PA for ages. They’d even starting interviewing people on my behalf, and then I went and hired someone off the side of the street. But I didn’t care.”

They sit and chat for a little longer, before the game starts and Louis makes them all shut up. Talking during football games is most definitely not allowed in Louis’ presence, unless it’s to call the ref a wanker.

Manchester United win in the end, instantly lifting the all their spirits. Well, Liam’s slightly grumpy at first, being a staunch West Brom supporter, but a kiss from Zayn cheers him up again almost instantly.

Louis leaves Harry giggling on the sofa, and heads to the kitchen to grab another beer. He takes one out of the fridge for Harry too, opening them over the sink. When he turns back around, Zayn’s standing in the doorway, watching him.

“Bit creepy, mate,” Louis remarks. “You alright?”

Zayn nods. “It’s just… You and Harry seem good. You look really happy, Lou.” Zayn’s got that soft look in his eyes, the one that reminds Louis why Zayn’s his best mate.

“We are happy, I think. Really happy,” Louis replies quietly, aware that Harry’s just in the other room.

Zayn glances into the sitting room quickly, then steps into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. “Yeah? Everything that happened while Harry was on tour is sorted?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’ve still got a few more things I want to say, but they can wait. Nothing bad, but I guess I just want to clarify what we are to each other.”

“How do you think that conversation will go?”

“I think I know what I want with him,” Louis admits, “And I think he wants it too,”

Zayn smiles at him. “I really, really hope so, mate. Harry’s nice, you know? Like, out of all the blokes you’ve been with, he’s the one I've gotten on best with. And he’s good for you, I reckon. You haven’t smiled this much in years. You’re my best friend, and I just want what’s best for you.”

Louis’ a little bit drunk and a lot emotional, and he can feel his eyes start to water. “Love you, Zee,” he says, pulling Zayn into a hug. The other boy returns it immediately, squeezing him back tightly.

“Love you too. C’mon, we’d better get back before our other halves start to wonder where we’ve gone.” Louis heart gives a little flutter at the words ‘other half’, and he can’t help the small smile that lingers on his lips, even as he sits back down beside Harry.

“Here, got you another,” he says, passing a beer to Harry.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry beams, giving him a sweet kiss.

*

By the end of the night Harry is completely hammered and Louis isn’t doing much better. Harry’s also gotten a little frisky, which is normally something Louis would fully encourage, but Liam keeps giving them warning looks whenever Harry’s hand strays a bit close to Louis’ crotch, and Niall won’t stop winking at them as tossing out sexual innuendoes. To his credit, some of the innuendoes have been quite creative.

It’s when Liam tells them they’ll be footing the bill if he needs to get the couch cleaned that Louis decides it’s time to leave. He rings for a taxi, offering Niall a lift too.

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, thanks, but I’d rather not be stuck in close quarters with you two. Zayn and Li said I could stay here anyway and then drive home tomorrow.” Despite the fact this is the first time they’ve met him, Louis’ honestly not surprised Zayn and Liam have offered to let Niall stay. He’s actually pretty sure the two are moments away from attempting to adopt him. It’s strange, seeing his friends and Harry’s getting along so well. But good too. Definitely good.

The taxi driver rings Louis to let him know he’s outside, and several overdrawn and drunken goodbyes later he and Harry are tottering out of the apartment block, arms wrapped around each other. The driver gives them a wary look when they crawl into the backseat, but Harry just giggles and tells him Louis’ address, rattling it off easily.

Harry pulls Louis over so that their sitting pressed closely together, and his hands seem to be everywhere. Louis’ honestly struggling to maintain decorum. “Wanna suck you off,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ neck, squeezing Louis’ thigh and inching closer to his cock.

“No blowjobs in the taxi,” Louis commands, clasping Harry’s hand tightly in his own. He was going for a whisper but it seems to come out at normal volume, and there’s no way the driver didn’t hear. Being drunk is _hard._ Louis sincerely hopes the driver doesn’t actually recognise Harry because it’s obvious their behaviour isn’t strictly platonic.

Harry seems to have no such concerns, spending the entire journey alternating between sucking on Louis’ neck and giggling. The driver seems incredibly relieved when they pull up outside Louis’ place. Louis gives him a twenty pound note, and hops out of the taxi after Harry, who has wandered off in the direction of his house without a backwards glance.

Louis lets Harry buzz them into the building, and he manages it on his fifth try entering the code, Louis clinging to his back with arms wrapped around his waist. They walk through the hallways like that, awkward and stumbling and laughing too loudly all the way.

“Tonight was fun,” Harry remarks once they get inside, Louis tossing his keys in a bowl beside the door.

“It was,” he agrees. “I’m glad you get along with my friends, you know,” he adds with drunken honesty.

“Me too,” Harry smiles shyly. “It was good, doing normal things with them. Sitting around drinking beer and eating pizza and watching footy. I don’t have that many people I can be close with like that. Everyone treats me like I’m famous.”

“You are famous, love,” Louis tells him.

“That doesn’t mean I should be treated any differently. I’m just a person like anyone else,” Harry says quietly.

“I know,” Louis responds just as quietly, placing a comforting hand on Harry’s arm. He feels a wave of overwhelming sorrow for Harry. He can’t imagine what it’s like to have everyone want to trade in on your name, to use you. To have to question the motives of everyone you meet. Louis feels nausea bubble up in his stomach, and not just from the alcohol. Because that’s what he’s doing, isn’t it? _He’s_ using Harry. Louis can’t even breathe through the guilt.

Harry obviously notices the look on Louis’ face, because he smiles wryly and continues. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it, really. And I have Niall, and I have you, so it’s not so bad.” His words only serve to make Louis feel sicker, and Louis shakes his head, bitter tears in his eyes.

“Harry,” he gasps, and it’s all he can do to wrap his arms around the other boy, trying to convey every single thing he should say, every apology he needs to make, in that one gesture.

“It’s alright, Lou,” Harry assures him, misinterpreting Louis’ reaction. He holds Louis tight, cradling him in his arms. But fuck, it’s not. It’s not alright, and Louis knows Harry would hate him if he knew what Louis was, what he’s done. Despite that, Louis lets himself be selfish, though, lets himself accept Harry’s comfort anyway, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Harry brings him over to the sofa, and they sit down together, Louis curled up in Harry’s lap. Harry strokes his hair. “Oh Lou, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Harry laments, punctuating the end of the sentence with a tiny hiccup.

“All those people who’ve used you, I hate them Harry. I really hate them,” Louis whimpers. And it’s true. In that moment he truly hates himself. He’s so, so disgusted at what he’s doing to this sweet, genuine boy.

Harry holds him, as Louis breathes out heavy sighs against his chest. “Sometimes, I think I hate them too, but…” he whispers.

“But?”

“But, um, people have their reasons, you know?” Harry says with a shrug. He sounds so small.

“What?” Louis asks, confused. “These people betray your trust, Harry, you can’t just shrug it off with a ‘these things happen’. What the fuck?”

Harry just looks down, avoiding Louis’ gaze. It’s a gesture Louis come to associate with Harry being nervous, and he immediately takes Harry’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of it. Harry sighs. “It’s just… My family…”

Louis can’t help the flicker of interest that ignites at the word ‘family’. Harry’s never spoken about them before, never so much as a mention, and even without the article Louis would have been curious as to what had happened between them. He sits up a little, untangling himself from Harry, feeling a lot more sober all of a sudden.

Eventually Harry straightens up, running his hand down his face like he’s trying to gather himself. “It’s a long story, what happened with them,” he begins, voice shaky and words still slightly slurred, “but um, I guess you could say it started with the shop…”

He trails off, taking another moment to compose himself before diving in. “My family owned their own business, you see, back home. It was just a corner shop in the middle of the village, but it’d been in the family for generations. Only, it wasn’t doing too well, hadn’t been for as long as I can remember really. It was losing more money than it was making, and it meant we were always really hard up trying to keep it afloat. My dad would never sell it though, start over doing something else. It meant a lot to him, you know? Keeping the family business alive. He didn’t wanna be the one it failed under. And even Mum loved it, not just ‘cause she knew how much it meant to my dad. I think she liked the fact they had something that was _theirs_ , you know?”

Patience has never been Louis’ strong point, but he waits to let Harry tell the story in his own time. He knows this isn’t easy for Harry, so he just nods and stays silent. In many ways, Harry’s words are oddly reminiscent of Simon, and Real Exposure. He knows how determined not to let the business fail, how willing he is to do whatever it takes to keep it up and running.

Harry takes a deep breath and continues, jolting Louis back out of his thoughts. “It was just this constant source of stress for them. My mum got a second job working as a cleaner to make ends meet, but it was hard for her. She has a bad back, and by the time she’d finished a day’s work she was barely able to walk with the pain.” He shakes his head. “She wanted me to get a job once I left school, to help the family out. And I knew her and Dad were struggling, but I just- I couldn’t! I just kept having visions of what my life would be like if I stayed in Holmes Chapel. I’d be stuck in a tiny little village, working my whole life trying to scrape enough money together to try and keep this poky little shop from going under.”

Harry’s eyes have gone watery, but there’s anger in his voice, and passion too. “It wasn’t what I wanted to do, you know? I just wanted to play music. Being a musician was all I ever imagined myself doing, ever since I was little. My parents couldn’t accept that; they thought it was stupid. In some ways they were probably right. I mean, everybody wants to be a star, but hardly anyone makes it. They thought I was wasting my time with silly little fantasies.”

“But I was determined. I decided to move to London, all on my own. I had a huge fight with my mum just before I left. She called me selfish, that I didn’t care about helped her, or helping my dad.”

He wipes at his eyes hastily, dashing away tears that were threatening to fall. Louis wants to reach out, pull him into his arms again, but he feels rooted in place, like any movement he makes he could break the moment and cause Harry to calm up.

“I left anyway,” Harry says, “started gigging around London, uploading videos to YouTube. Anything to get my name out there. And it worked, got noticed by a talent scout from a label, and the rest is history. Except… Except, I hadn’t really spoken to my parents after I moved. They rang a few times, but I wouldn’t answer. Or if I did it was just short conversations, not much detail. I was still so mad about the fight we’d had before I left, I just didn’t want to talk to them.”

“It got better after I got signed to a label. Partly because I wanted to rub it in their faces that I was actually successful, which was petty but… Only once I did that, my mum asked me for money. My parents had remortgaged the house to get money to keep the shop going, but my mum said they weren’t making repayments in time. They’d gotten letters from the bank threatening to foreclose on them. I helped as much as I could, of course I did, but I’d only just gotten signed, and I wasn’t really going to be making any money until after I released my first album. I’d gotten a bit of an advance, but that was meant to go towards studio costs and everything. I explained that to them, they acted like they understood…”

“But then stories started coming out in the press. Some of them were just silly things, stories about my childhood, my high school girlfriends. It was still invasive, but I didn’t really care. But then it started to get a bit more serious. I bought an apartment but the address got leaked. The papers did a huge write up about it, and I had all sorts of people hanging around outside. There were other things too. Things I- I never wanted anyone to know about me. Things most people _didn’t_ know about me, even the ones I was close to.”

Harry places his whole hands over his face, like he’s trying to shield himself, protect himself. His next words come out muffled.

“It was pretty apparent someone close to me was leaking things, I just… God, I never thought it would be _them_. My own parents! I was so hurt I locked myself up for days, just getting drunk in my own apartment. It was Niall who ended up snapping me out of it. He’s been about the only person I can trust ever since.”

“Shit, Harry, that’s terrible.” Louis’ honestly amazed. What kind of people would sell their own _son_ out? He finally gives into his urges, reaching his arms around Harry and holding him tightly, moving closer until he’s practically lying on top of Harry, sprawled in his lap.

Harry swallows thickly, hugging Louis back. “Yeah. I cut them off completely, didn’t speak to them at all. I was just so hurt.” Louis’ jostled by the small hiccup that follows as he lies against Harry’s chest.

“You had every right to be,” Louis says, a solid lump in his own throat. He tries to imagine what would happen if Harry were to cut him off, and it’s so incredibly painful he forgets to breathe for a moment. He burrows in closer to Harry, desperate to feel him.

Harry’s face screws up, and he starts to cry in earnest. “I found out a year or so later that my dad lost the shop. It didn’t feel as g-good as I thought it would. I felt so bad, like it was my fault. I could’ve done more to help them, but I was angry. I felt they were always trying to hold me back, and I-I just-” Harry’s body is wracked by a sobs, and he just shakes his head.

Louis can feel his heart breaking for the boy beneath him. “Harry, it’s not your fault, it’s theirs! There’s no excuse for what they did,” he insists, holding Harry’s tear-stained face between his hands.

Harry rubs his nose with his sleeve, sniffling loudly. “People get desperate. That shop was everything to them, and they were so scared of losing it… ’m just saying, I understand. I haven’t forgiven them and I haven’t spoken to them since, but I d-do understand.”

“Harry,” Louis says sadly. His own body is shaking with tears, and he doesn’t know exactly who they’re for. For Louis, it’s all a reminder that he’s going to lose Harry the moment the article comes out, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. The thought is horrible, and Louis just wants to block it from his mind. It’s all too much. Without thinking, he leans towards Harry, pressing his lips hard and abruptly against the other boy’s.

Harry freezes, sobs caught in his throat, but It only takes another second before he’s kissing Louis back just as fiercely, hands immediately coming up to tangle in Louis’ hair. Their lips move together heatedly, the kiss intensifying straightaway. Louis feels the urge to be closer, the need for Harry, gnawing at his stomach, making him gasp as he presses tightly against him. Then Harry’s suddenly standing up without warning, and Louis has to clamp his legs firmly around Harry’s waist to avoid being dropped. Harry’s hand is on the back of his head, preventing Louis from pulling back or breaking the kiss even if he wanted too. But god, he doesn’t. He never wants to stop kissing Harry.

He barely even registers Harry’s walking, he just keeps kissing Harry, clinging to him, to comfort him, to take comfort from him. Eventually the make it upstairs, to Harry bedroom. When they get to the bed, however, Harry makes no move to take things any further. Louis can feel he’s half-hard against his thigh.

Louis knows Harry needs him to take control, so he does. He takes his time, undressing Harry slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. He murmurs in Harry’s ear, digs his nails into the soft flesh on Harry’s hips, reminding Harry he’s here, that he’s going to take care of him.

When he sinks into Harry, it’s with a gentleness Louis didn’t even know he was capable of. He looks into Harry’s eyes as he thrusts, memorising the way his face slackens when Louis hits his prostate, swallowing up his tiny gasps between his lips. They move together, slow and unhurried, feeling each other.

Harry falls asleep as some as they finish, the sex combined with the alcohol from earlier completely knocking him out. He curls into Louis’ side, blowing out hot breaths against his skin.

Louis, on the other hand, stays awake. His mind is spinning, and not just because he’s still tipsy. It’s just he’s come to realise how horrible the prospect of being cut off from Harry actually is, and he’s scared. If Harry hasn’t even contacted his own parents after he found out they were selling stories to the press, there’s no way he’ll ever speak to Louis again, and that… that makes Louis’ heart ache with unimaginable pain.

He’s been feeling like this for a while, if he’s honest with himself. This thing with Harry has gone far beyond casual sex. God, it was far beyond casual sex _months_ ago, ever since Harry surprised him at his birthday party and bought him that plane ticket to Prague, Louis just didn’t want to admit it.

He told Zayn that yeah, he definitely liked Harry, but now he’s forcing himself to consider it might be more than that. A _lot_ more than that. His heart is beating so fast, from fear, but also… from excitement too. He turns in the bed to look at Harry, his face peaceful in sleep, and Louis’ stomach immediately explodes with butterflies.

Shit. _Shit_.

Louis _loves_ him. Is genuinely, wholeheartedly in love with him.

The realisation hits him full force, until he feels like his chest is caving in, and he’s struggling to breathe. Harry lies there oblivious, hair fanned around his face like a halo looking achingly beautiful, and oh _god_ , does Louis love him.

A few things become clear to Louis. He has to tell Harry how much he means to him. They can’t keep up their little arrangement, not now. It might kill Louis if they do, if he has to pretend that Harry isn’t the most special person in the world to him. Harry needs to know too, deserves to.

Louis also knows he also definitely isn’t writing any article, not under any circumstances. There’s no way he’d do anything to hurt this boy. Even if Harry laughs at Louis, rejects him, there’s no way Louis will ever betray him.

So. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he’s going to make Harry breakfast, whatever he wants, and then he’s going to tell Harry how he feels; lay all his cards out on the table, and hope the other boy feels the same way. Louis’ going to do it, and it’s a definitely a huge risk, but looking at Harry, watching as his hair moves in time with his soft breaths, Louis knows it’s worth it. This boy is so worth it.

He drifts off to sleep, a smile on his lips, and his heart feeling so full it could burst.

*

When Louis wakes up the next morning he’s alone in the bed and the other side is cold, yielding almost no sign that someone slept there last night. Louis frowns, and listens intently to see if he can he movement in his flat, but all he can hear is someone wandering around in the apartment above him.

He grabs his phone to check the time. It’s ten o’clock, and while that’ still quite early for Louis’ normal weekend routine, it’s very possible that Harry actually had somewhere to be. Louis crawls out of bed and does a quick search of the flat, making sure Harry’s definitely not around. All his clothes are missing, and if Louis didn’t know better he’d swear Harry was never here at all.

It’s not a big deal, though, so Louis shrugs and grabs his phone again, shooting off a text to Harry. ‘ _Hey you snuck out early, i was gonna make u breakfast! Text me back when you get this :) x_ ’.

Only... hours later and Louis still hasn’t gotten a reply. Louis knows Harry well enough to know that the boy’s practically glued to his phone, and it’s unlikely he hasn’t checked it. Louis’ a bit upset, honestly, but he’s trying not to jump to conclusions. Maybe there’s some massive emergency with Harry’s management or label, and he’s too busy to text Louis back.

Louis decides to take his mind off it, busying himself by composing a draft email to Cowell. He’s trying to phrase it in way that makes his boss sympathetic enough to let him keep his job, but he knows there’s only a small chance of it working. Simon is definitely not going to be happy with him, and Louis doesn’t really have a solid plan for what he’s going to do if he ends up unemployed, but honestly, it’s worth it. Harry’s worth it.

First draft done, he ends up counting how many times he’s told Cowell he’s sorry in the email. Is eight times too much? It definitely seems like a lot. Maybe he should call Zayn for a second opinion.

When Zayn answers, he sounds groggy and disoriented despite the fact it’s almost two p.m. “Am I actually waking you up, Zee?”

“Fuck. Lou, I just been lying in bed all day. I think this is it. I think I’m legitimately dying,” Zayn groans down the phone.

“What the fuck happened? You were alright when I left.”

“It’s that Niall bloke. Fuck, you are never allowed bring him around again. How can he drink that much? I don’t think I drank half as much as he did, but he was right as rain this morning.”

Louis can’t help but laugh. He possibly should have warned Zayn about Niall, but it’s far more amusing to watch him learn the hard way.

“Anyway, listen… I rang for a reason, actually. Would you be up for looking over something for me?” Louis asks hesitantly.

“Depends on what it is,” Zayn tells him. “I’m not in the best of states right now.”

“Uh, it’s an email. To Simon. I want to tell him that I’m not gonna write the article anymore.”

“Fucking finally,” Zayn says.

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon Lou. I knew there was no way you were actually going to go through with it. Ever since you came over after that party at Harry’s.”

“What? But you _encouraged_ me!”

“You’re stubborn as shit, Louis. If I’d have told you that I thought it was a bad idea, then you’d have done it anyway, just to spite me. And you’d have ended up miserable afterwards. Sometimes I have to just let you come to these realisations on your own, mate.”

“Fuck you,” Louis says in lieu of anything better. “There’s no way you could’ve known I wouldn’t go through with it. I didn’t even know!”

“Lou, you always get attached to whoever you’re sleeping with. You give every one-night stand your number and hope they’ll call, and you’re _always_ disappointed when they don’t. That’s just who you are.”

“It’s _polite_ to give them your number, Zayn. And excuse me if I’m not exactly fond of the idea of the person I’ve just slept with never wanting to see my face again.”

Zayn laughs. “You can deny it all you like, but you’re a romantic at heart. Anyway, send me on the email and I’ll have a look at it. Simon’s going to be mad anyway, though, no matter what you do, you know that, right?”

Louis sighs. “Yeah, I figured.”

“But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says softly.

He finishes the call with Zayn, sending him off the email he’s written so far. It’s not completely finished, but it’s enough for Zayn to get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

While he’s waiting for Zayn to get back to him, he decides to text Niall. He might be with Harry, or at the very least he'll probably be able to tell him why Harry isn’t texting back.

 **To Niall:** _Zayn said you drank him dry last night_.

Niall texts back almost straightaway.

 **From Niall:** _Some1 had to drink all that beer. I was jus the best man for the job_!

 **To Niall:** _Mate I don’t know how your livers still goin._

**To Niall:** _You with Harry today?_

**From Niall:** _Nah, got the day off. Thought he’d be spending it wit u._

Which, okay. It isn’t exactly the answer Louis was hoping for. Harry’s apparently not supposed to be working today, and Niall would surely know if any emergency meetings had cropped up.

 **To Niall:** _Oh. I was trying to ring him earlier and he wasn’t answering his phone. Thought he might have been at a meeting or something._

He hopes it sounds casual, and not like he’s been frantically trying to get hold of Harry all morning. He’s always been paranoid about coming off a bit clingy, if he’s honest, and he doesn’t want Niall to think he’s one of those guys who desperately needs to know their partner’s every move. But Harry left without saying anything this morning, and Louis thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to wonder what up with him.

 **From Niall:** _Defo no meeting, i’d have known. He’s not answerin his phone 2 me either, maybe he’s sleeping???_

Harry was awake enough to get up and leave this morning without even leaving a note, but Louis decides not to mention it.

**To Niall:** _Yeah maybe. Thanks anyway mate. I’m sure he’ll get in touch when he can._

**From Niall:** _I’ll let u know if I hear from him._

Louis tosses his phone to the other side of the room. Luckily it lands on his sofa and not on the floor. He really can’t afford a new one. At least there’s one positive to be gained from his conversation with Niall, and that’s that he isn’t the only one Harry isn’t answering the phone to.

A spike of worry runs through him, as his mind immediately runs through the slightly melodramatic scenario of Harry being hurt, perhaps lying in a hospital somewhere, but he quickly dismisses it. If Harry had been in an accident someone would’ve recognised him, word would’ve gotten out a while ago, and Niall would definitely know all about it.

Louis turns back to his computer. He messes about a bit on the internet, even googles Harry’s name just to sure there isn’t any news about him. He gets back absolutely nothing. Eventually Zayn sends him the draft email to Simon back with one or two suggestions of things he could change. It doesn’t take him long to fix everything up until it’s pretty much ready to send.

He hovers over the send button, taking a deep breath. He remembers last night, Harry’s devastation at his parents’ betrayal, the way he clung to Louis, pulled him in closer, and yeah. Zayn’s definitely right. He’s doing the right thing. He finally clicks the send button, backing away from the computer straightaway and breathing out a massive exhale. It’s done. He’s no longer writing the article, and he’s prepared to face the consequences of that decision, whatever they may be.

Adrenaline is pumping in his veins, and all he wants to do is run to Harry, and kiss him, and tell him that he loves him. Because god, does he love him.

He picks his phone up off the sofa, dialling Harry’s number once again. He prays fervently that Harry picks up, but unfortunately there’s still no answer. Louis groans, desperate to see Harry again, to explain his feelings, to find out if Harry feels the same way. He’s spent weeks at least, and probably months, denying how he felt about Harry, and now that he’s accepted the fact that, yeah, he’s in love, he really doesn’t want to wait a second longer.

And then it hits him, like a bolt of lightning. The key Harry gave him. If Harry’s not answering the phone then he probably won’t answer the door either, but Louis could let himself in, force a confrontation. That is, if Harry’s even at his house, but it’s worth a try.

Louis dresses quickly, washing his face and brushing his hair, and generally not trying to look like death warmed up. He’s jittery with nerves, unsure of what he’s going to say to Harry, but all he knows if he has to put himself out there.

The entire tube journey to Harry’s is a blur. Louis keeps running through phrases in his mind, things he wants to tell Harry. ‘ _I want it all with you… I want to be better for you… You take my breath away every single day… I’m so, so in love with you…_ ’

He contemplates telling Harry the truth about his job, but he quickly decides against it. He doesn’t know what Simon is going to do when he finds out Louis’ refusing to write the article on Harry, but no doubt the next few days in the office are going to be highly unsettled. He wants to wait until he knows whether he’s even _keeping_ his job before he talks to Harry about it. He will come clean eventually though, of that much he’s certain, and all he can do is hope Harry forgives him when he does.

When he gets to Harry’s he takes a moment to steel himself before walking up to the door. He fishes the key out of his pocket, opening the door slowly. The house seems silent and still, and Louis wonders whether he should shout Harry’s name, or just search the place for him.

Before he can even make up his mind, however, he hears a shrill and decidedly female laugh coming from Harry’s sitting room. The door is closed over so Louis can’t see in, but he wanders closer anyway, steps light so as not to make a sound. When he draws nearer, he can make out the low rumbling of a male voice and the higher tones of a female. His brow furrows instantly, and pressing his ear to the door, Louis listens carefully.

Moving closer, Louis can tell it’s definitely Harry speaking, but he doesn’t quite recognise the voice of the woman with him. It appears it’s just the two of them. Louis can’t make out the exact words of the conversation, but the woman is giggling a lot, so it must be something quite friendly.

Louis wonders if he should knock and alert Harry to his presence, but he hesitates. He doesn’t have a clue what the hell he’d be walking into, not really, and for some reason he feels incredibly apprehensive. If he could just see inside the room, know what was happening...

Which is why Louis’ next move is to head outside, feeling unbelievably foolish. What the fuck is he doing, spying on Harry like some deranged stalker? Even still he can’t stop himself, making his way through Harry’s garden until he reaches the window. He peers inside carefully, trying desperately not to draw attention to himself. The second he lays eyes on Harry, his body turns cold.

Harry’s sitting on the sofa, a young blonde woman sitting extremely close. They look extremely cosy, Harry relaxing against the couch as the girl cradles a glass of wine and laughs at every word coming out of his mouth. For Harry’s part, he seems a little more withdrawn. He’s chatting, yes, but he looks tired, and his smiles seem to be verging on grimaces.

As Louis watches, the girl leans over and places a hand on Harry’s upper thigh, squeezing gently. Louis feels his blood turn to ice. He’s seen enough, he has to get out of here.

Unfortunately, the universe isn’t done shitting on him. As he twists around to leave, he trips over a root from a nearby shrub, making him fall flat on his face. He cries out automatically on the way down, hitting the ground with a hard thud, and _shit_. There’s a very good chance that Harry and that woman with him have heard him.

Louis scrambles to his feet, ankle throbbing. He’s afraid to look back, afraid that Harry will be staring out the window looking at him. Instead he half limps and half runs as quickly as he can, darting down the driveway and out the gate.

It’s only when he’s on the tube on the way back home that Louis lets himself cry. He sobs thick, hot tears into his hands, certain he’s attracting all manner of strange looks but unable to stop.

He can’t believe how stupid he was, willing to put it all on the line for Harry. He’s been so deluded, thinking Harry could like him, maybe even love him. He was just a fuck, a meaningless way for Harry to vent his sexual frustration and he should have known. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!

When he gets home he switches his phone off, not even checking for any missed calls or text messages. He’s embarrassed to be honest, embarrassed that Harry probably caught him creeping around in his garden like some weird clingy pervert, but more than that, much more, he’s embarrassed for himself. God, he’s been so, so stupid. How could he fucking let himself fall for the one person he shouldn’t have? It’s not like he didn’t know Harry’s reputation beforehand, but he’d just… ignored it.

And that’s fucking typical. Louis can’t count the number of times he’s relied on his own judgement of somebody, completely disregarding what everyone around him was telling him, thinking he knew better.

He might have destroyed his entire career for Harry, and he’s got fucking nothing in return. So Louis does the only thing he can do. He digs a bottle of vodka out of the back of a kitchen cupboard and he drinks, swigging straight from the bottle.

The vodka is hard to swallow, burning his throat and leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. He has nothing to mix it with though, so he perseveres, determined to get as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time.

Only quarter of an hour in, and he’s well on his way to succeeding. He’s managed to gulp down a quarter of the bottle, and his brain has settled into a delightfully hazy fog. He’s at that stage of drunkenness when he starts talking to himself, muttering variations of “fucking Harry,” and trying not to cry. He would feel pathetic, but there’s no one here to judge him, so he can do what he fucking likes.

Louis ends up booting up his laptop, typing in his password incorrectly about three or four times before finally getting it right. It’s only when he logs into his email account that he sees an email from Simon, a reply to his earlier message.

Louis didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink any lower, but fuck, it has. A wave of trepidation washes over him. Oh god, what if Simon’s fired him? It might not be the best idea to open the email when he’s so pissed he can barely even read it, but Louis _needs_ to know what it says. Fuck, he needs to know if he even has a job to go to on Monday.

Louis skips the first few sentences, jumping straight to the important part of the message. ‘ _I’m very disappointed in your decision not to move forward with this story. I had explained to you how important this was, not only to your career, but also to Real Exposure as a whole, and this decision impacts on everyone_ ’.

And okay, Simon’s definitely angry. Louis may be well on his way to polishing off a bottle of vodka, but even he can detect the quiet fury behind Simon’s polite words. He’d been expecting that though, there’s no way Simon wasn’t going to be fuming. Louis just hopes he can understand it’s not a decision Louis made lightly.

And then the next sentence catches his eye, and all hope is lost.

‘ _I would like to meet with you on Monday, and discuss your future at the publication’._

And shit, that doesn’t sound good. Not at all. Fuck. Louis’ not an idiot, he knows what this means. He’s blown it. He’s fucking blown it. After everything he went through to get this shitty job, it’s all been for nothing. His entire career destroyed, because he couldn’t stop himself falling for Harry Styles.

There’s only one thing to do, really. Louis goes back in search of his bottle of vodka.

*

Louis doesn’t actually remember falling asleep. He doesn’t remember a whole lot from the day before, if he’s honest. There was definitely something about watching Gogglebox at some point, and bursting into uncontrollable tears halfway through at something Leon said. He doesn’t even remember what it was. The entire day is hazy bar the one thing he’d desperately like to forget.

He wakes still lying on the sofa, pale light streaming in the sitting room window. It’s still early, judging from the level of light, and Louis surprisingly doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of death. He’s probably still a bit drunk.

It takes him a moment to register the knocking sound at the door, and another moment to figure that it’s probably what woke him up. He stumbles towards it, unsteady on his feet, before pulling it open.

And… Harry’s there, fist still half-raised in mid-air. Louis feels the same rush of excitement he always does whenever he sees Harry’s face. Then the memories of yesterday come flooding back, and that rush turns horribly sickening.

"Harry," Louis breathes, at the same time that Harry blurts out "Were you at my house yesterday?"

The stand in silence for a moment, Louis still frozen with shock. Harry looks slightly accusatory, but anxious too, like he's worried about Louis' answer, and _shit_. Louis' answer. What exactly is he supposed to say to that? 'Yes Harry, that _was_ me hiding out in your bushes last night'?

Louis' fishmouthing unattractively in the absence of anything to say, but he can’t really seem to stop. His entire vocabulary has disappeared from his brain. Harry seems to give up waiting for a reply, just shaking his head resignedly. "Can I come in?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure," Louis replies, sounding breathless. He winces at how embarrassing he sounds, even to his own ears.

Harry pushes past him into the sitting room, and then he stops, standing in the centre of the room like he’s unsure of what to do next.

“Do you want tea?” Louis asks hesitantly, the stiff set of Harry’s shoulders making him feel on edge.

Harry turns on him. “No, Louis. I don’t want fucking tea, god!” He buries his face in his hands, taking a deep breath before removing them. “I just want to know if you were at my house last night.”

Louis could lie, but he’s pretty sure Harry already knows the answer. “It’s just you weren’t answering my calls and texts. And I really, really wanted to speak to you, and, you’d given me that key, so I thought…” He trails off, shrugging and keeping his eyes firmly staring at the ground. He doesn’t look at Harry’s reaction, doesn’t want to see it. Harry probably thinks he’s some overly-attached stalker, peeping through his windows to keep tabs on Harry when he wouldn’t answer his texts. Harry’s probably going to take out a restraining order after this, and Louis won’t even blame him.

God, he’s so stupid. It so, so obvious now, how little their ‘relationship’ had meant to Harry. Louis had read too much into it, thought everything had meant more than it did.

Harry’s been silent after Louis’ confession, but then he speaks. “And did you, um, see? Who I was with?” He sounds quiet,

Louis nods.

More silence, and then. “Shit. Louis, I’m sorry.”

...Wait, what?

“You’re sorry?” Louis asks disbelievingly, finally looking up at Harry.

“The girl you saw, Cassie? I didn’t mean to meet up with her, I was just upset, and then she called me, and normally I wouldn’t answer the phone to her, not anymore, but I just… I wasn’t thinking straight. Please, Louis, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Louis tells him. “I was standing outside your window, aren’t you mad?”

“Aren't _you_ mad?” Harry asks, brow furrowed. “I was with someone else… And I know I’ve said this before but nothing happened. After you, uh, disturbed us, I made her leave, made her go home. And then I spent the rest of the evening freaking out about what to do, what the fuck I was going to say to you. I couldn’t sleep at all last night, so eventually I just got up and headed over here.”

“What time even is it?” Louis wonders.

“Seven a.m.,” Harry replies sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s early, I know, but…”

“It’s fine,” Louis shrugs. He feels dizzy, the alcohol from last night very much still present in his system.

“Do you want to sit down?” Louis asks, stumbling his own way towards the sofa. Harry joins him, looking at him with a worried expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, placing a hesitant hand on Louis’ forearm.

“I may have been drinking last night. Don’t think I’ve slept it off completely yet.”

“Oh,” Harry says, only frowning harder. Louis can feel the concern emanating off in his waves, and he shakes his head fondly.

“I’m fine. It’s okay, Haz, really,” Louis assures him. He isn’t if Harry really buys it, but at least the wrinkles fade slightly from his forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Louis. I mean what I said, that nothing happened, but I understand if you don’t believe me. _I_ wouldn’t even believe me, if I’m honest.”

“Harry, please. You’re the world’s shittest liar. I’d know if you were lying. It’d be written all over your face.” It’s the truth. Harry’s always so open and expressive, and Louis can read him like a book.

“So you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Louis confirms.

“Thank god,” Harry sighs. “The whole way over here I was imagining you slamming the door in my face, telling me you never wanted to see me again, and I- I couldn’t handle it, you know? If you’d done that. You…” Harry takes a deep breath, “You mean a lot to me Louis. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“You mean a lot to me too,” Louis tells him, “More than you know, Harry.”

Harry smiles, something watery and hopeful. “Yeah?” he asks. There’s something in the way he looks that makes Louis’ entire body tingle.

“Yeah,” Louis answers, voice hoarse.

Harry’s moved closer, and Louis can feel the atmosphere in the room shift, laden down with something so thick and heavy it’s almost suffocating. Harry is all Louis can see, his presence invading every space, every orifice. His heart is beating so loud, he’s certain Harry can hear it.

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” Harry says, hands grasping Louis’, squeezing tight. “I didn’t think I _could_.” He glances up, looking straight at Louis, his gaze holding him fast. “Louis, I- I love you. I’m _in love_ with you, and I- I need to know if you feel the same.”

“Harry,” Louis chokes, barely audible. His voice is working, words caught in his throat, but Harry is looking at him expectantly and he has to do _something_ …

Before Louis even knows it, he’s grabbing Harry and kissing him hard, putting everything he can’t say into it. He thinks Harry understands from how tightly he grasps Louis to him, pressing himself against him.

But no, Harry deserves more. Harry deserves _words_ , no matter how hard they are to say. With considerable effort Louis pulls himself away, reaching up and cradling Harry’s face between his palms, making sure to look him right in the eye.

“I love you more than anything,” he tells Harry. “I think - I _know -_ I have for a while now, even if I was too stupid to realise it at first. You’re so, so important to me.”

Harry smiles so big it has to hurt, and then he’s kissing Louis again, tongue trailing along his bottom lip until Louis opens his mouth, letting him in until their tongues are tangling together. Louis can feel Harry’s hands on his hips, fingers digging in a little like he never wants to let go.

They’re interrupted by Louis’ phone ringing, the noise muffled. Louis eventually digs it out from down the side of the sofa. The second he sees who’s calling his heart jumps.

“Sorry,” he tells Harry, hopping up from the sofa quickly. “I have to answer this.” He runs into his bedroom before Harry can reply, sitting on the edge of his bed and pressing ‘answer’.

“Tomlinson,” Simon’s voice comes over the line. “I’ve just finished reading the email you sent me last night.”

“Oh?” Louis asks, puzzled. He has a vague memory of logging into his email account, and reading a message from Simon…

Fuck, he got fired. Or something. The email from Simon definitely wasn’t good news, he remembers that much.

And, oh. Oh no, did he actually _reply_? He can’t remember actually sending anything, but a spike of apprehension runs through him. Oh shit, oh bloody fuck, what did he _say_?

“I want you to come in immediately, and we can discuss it. This could be _huge_ , absolutely massive!” Louis can’t remember the last time he ever heard Simon sound so excited about something. It’s not a good sign.

“Um, can you just hold on for a sec?” Louis asks, grabbing his laptop and pulling it open. Thankfully it was only hibernating and doesn’t take long to boot up.

“What time can you be in here for? Eight?” Simon is asking. Louis drums his desk of the sofa, cursing his shitty internet connection as he waits for his email to load. Finally, manages to get into his sent box, and he clicks on the last sent email to Simon.

His heart drops straightway, right from the very first sentence. Simon’s in his ear, asking “Tomlinson? Tomlinson, can you hear me?” but his voice is weak, distant compared to the blood roaring in Louis’ ears.

 _I’m so s osorry,_ Louis had written. Not the best start. _I know the thing with me and Harru was just ment to be sex. I never meant to fall in love wit him but I did. I coulnd’t help it. Hes sweet and kind, and he can always make me laugh. It doesn’t matter taht he’s sleepin with other people, I still can’t write the article about him. I’m very very sorry._

Louis’ cringing so hard by the time he reaches the end of the rambling email he feels like he might spontaneously combust. That honestly wouldn’t be entirely a bad thing. He can’t believe he drunk emailed his boss. He drunk emailed his boss about a secret gay affair he’d been having with one of the UK’s biggest pop stars. His boss who also happens to be the editor of a tabloid publication. Fuck.

Christ, Louis wants to disappear.

“Tomlinson!” Simon barks, bringing Louis’ attention back to him. “I said, what time are you coming in? I want to get started on this story immediately.”

“Well the thing is, I was very drunk when I wrote all that…” Louis explains weakly.

“So what? It’s not true?”

“I’d had a bad day, and I was very emotional,” Louis says, skirting around the question. “And then I got drunk, and I didn’t know what I was writing, Simon. Can you please maybe just ignore it? Pretend it never happened?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and then Simon sighs. “This could be a massive story, Tomlinson. Harry Styles, famed womaniser, is actually _gay_. And _you_ could be the one to break it! Do you know what it could do for you? For your _career_?”

“I- There is no story, Simon,” Louis says, trying to sound resolute. His voice cracks a little though. “I didn’t know what I was writing in that email to you. It’s all bullshit.”

“Louis, please. You don’t get to the position I’m in without learning how to spot a lie, and this right now? This is a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Louis tells him, voice hardening. “There isn’t a story. Not if I refuse to write one.”

“Tomlinson-”

“No. You can’t make me. In fact, you can’t make me write anything. I quit.”

Simon laughs derisively. “Really? You do know I can get this story written without you, right?”

“You can write anything you want, but where’s your proof? A drunken email from one of your former employees? Half of that email’s gibberish, good luck using that as your source!”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Simon says, “Louis, please think about this carefully.”

“I have. And I’m not selling any stories about Harry. Not ever. And that’s final.”

Simon sighs. “I can see I'm not going to change your mind.”

“You’re not,” Louis confirms.

“Well in that case I accept your resignation. You can come clean out your desk anytime this week.”

“Fine,” Louis says shortly, and then hits the red button to hang up. His head has started to pound and quite frankly he just wanted that conversation to be over. His presses the heels of hands into his eyes and groans.

“Uh, what story were you talking about?” comes a voice from the doorway, and Louis’ head snaps up to see Harry standing there.

“What?”

“Whoever you were talking to on the phone. You said ‘I’m not going to sell any stories about Harry.’”

“You were listening?” Louis asks, voice strained.

“You were shouting a bit,” Harry says, tone dangerously even, “and I thought I heard my name, so I listened in at the door.” He shrugs, looking unapologetic. “And then you mentioned something about a story. A story about me.”

He’s got a hard gleam in his eyes that Louis’ never seen before. It makes a hard lump form in his throat, one he can’t speak around.

“What story? What about?”

“About you and me,” Louis croaks, throat dry.

Harry doesn’t seem that surprised. “You said you weren’t going to write it though. Why would they want you to write it?” He’s frowning hard, looking at Louis with suspicion.

“I can explain…” Louis starts, and then trails off, unsure of what to say next. Can he really? Is there anything he can say that won’t make Harry immediately hate him?

“Well, come on then. I’m waiting,” Harry says impatiently, arms folded.

“Harry, I- I lied to you,” Louis says quickly. It’s like ripping off a plaster.

Harry stares at him. He’s still frowning, but Louis doesn’t miss the flash of fear in his eyes, the way his voice shakes when he asks, “About what?”

“About what I do. I’m not an author. I’m… I’m a journalist.” Louis has to force himself to keep looking at Harry’s face. The devastation and betrayal he sees nearly rips him apart, but he knows he deserves it, deserves to see it.

Harry just shakes his head, eyes welling up. “No,” he murmurs quietly. Louis isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear.

“Please just let me explain? Please! You can walk out afterwards, never see me again, delete my phone number, but _please_ , just listen first?” Louis pleads.

Harry’s eyes flick towards the door, but eventually he nods. “Okay,” he says, voice hoarse, “I’ll listen.”

Louis waits for Harry to take a seat on the bed beside him. He sits perched right on the edge, as if he's ready to leave at any moment. Louis gulps. It’s pretty clear he’s got one chance, he can’t fuck this up.

“So, yeah, like I said, I’m a journalist. I’ve been working at Real Exposure for a little over a year now.” Harry exhales deeply, keeping his eyes cast down. It’s his only reaction to Louis’ words. “Simon, the editor, he called me into a meeting a few months ago. Said he needed a story, something big, or else the paper was gonna go under.”

“So what? You immediately thought of me to screw over?”

“No! God no. It was Simon’s suggestion. I didn’t really have a choice. Simon was treating me as a glorified intern, and this was finally my shot at getting my name on a proper article. Simon made it pretty clear it was my _only_ shot, actually. And anyway, if I didn’t write the story, then he’d have just gotten someone else to do it.”

“This is such bullshit,” Harry spits, and Louis winces. Harry looks furious, but at least he hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

Taking a deep breath, Louis continues. “So I did what Simon asked. Went to parties that I knew you’d be at, things like that. I didn’t mean to get as close to you as I did, but it just happened… When I met you, you were so nice, and funny, and sweet, and I- I never meant to fall for you, but I _did_. I knew ages ago that I couldn’t do it, couldn’t write an article on you. I actually sent Simon an email yesterday telling him I was out! I can show it to you, if you’d like. I never told him anything about you, I promise, except, um, when I got drunk yesterday… I may have actually told him about us, that I was sleeping with you. I don’t even remember doing it, except he called me just there about it… And I know, Harry. I was stupid-”

Harry’s looking down at his hands, and Louis can’t really tell how he’s reacting. “You were lying to me all along,” he says flatly.

“Not about everything!” Louis insists. “Honestly Harry. I understand if you don't believe me, don't trusted me anymore, but the things I said about you earlier, how I feel about you, that's real. I never lied about that.” Harry scoffs a little, but Louis continues hurriedly.

“Spending time with you, it wasn’t about my job, or the article I was meant to be writing. It was about _you_. Every time you smile, every time we kiss, my heart skips a beat. I love you so much Harry, please believe that. I was never supposed to but I do.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, hands coming up to wipe at this eyes and Louis knows how he feels. He’s not far from crying himself. Eventually Harry speaks, so quiet he’s almost whispering. “God Louis. I _want_ to believe you, I do. But after everything that happened with my family…”

“I know, but Harry, I’m not like that, I promise I’m not. I’ve quit my job at the paper because I _don’t_ want to sell any stories.”

For the first time since he sat down, Harry looks at him. His eyes flick across Louis’ face searchingly. “I love you too,” he whispers eventually. “I just don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Give me time?” Louis suggests. “Give me time to prove that you can.”

“I don’t know,” Harry says quietly. “You’ve hurt me, Louis. And I guess sometimes I’ve hurt you too. I know my birthday, and last night... that wasn’t easy for you, but…” He sighs, long and deep. “That’s no way to build a relationship, is it? That’s not _healthy_.”

Louis doesn’t really know what to say to that. Harry has a point, after. He sits in silence, pondering what options they have.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry speaks suddenly, shaking his head like he’s breaking out of a stupor. “And I don’t want this to be the end of us, over before we even had a chance.”

The words make Louis’ heart sing, and hope bubbles in his stomach before he can clamp down on it. “What do you mean?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I think… I think I want to draw a line under everything that’s happened up until this point? I’m not saying forget about it, ‘cause I can’t, but like. Maybe we could start over?”

Louis can barely believe what Harry’s saying. He feels like jumping up and down on the bed, Tom Cruise style, but instead he settles on saying, “You really think we could do that?”

“You only get one second chance though, okay?” Harry says sternly, and Louis nods his head straightaway. It feels like fireworks exploding in his belly, like any minute they’re going to burst out of him, uncontainable.

“Harry Styles,” he says, very seriously. “I love you. So, so much. I’m an idiot, and you deserve someone a million times better. So I’m going to become better. I won’t break your heart, Harry. I _can’t_. I can’t be that person.”

"I'm trusting you not to be,” Harry says, looking him right in the eyes. “This is it. One chance.”

“One chance,” Louis repeats. “I’m not gonna fuck it up.”

“Good,” Harry says, and then his mouth is on Louis’ kissing him deeply. Louis barely even takes a second before he’s kissing him back just as hard, trying to put all of his apologises, all of his _love_ , into it. He doesn’t know why Harry’s giving him a second chance, he certainly doesn’t deserve it, but he’s not going to fucking argue.

Louis doesn’t even know how long they spend snogging on the bed, but even though he hates to break the moment, there’s something he has to say. He pulls back, holding Harry’s face in his hands. “We still haven’t sorted everything out though. I mean, Simon knows now, about you,” he points out to Harry, “And he’s gonna hound you forever ‘til he gets some proof.”

Harry shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he says lightly.

“What? Of course it does—”

“I was kind of planning on coming out eventually. And well, meeting you, it kind of makes me feel like… I’m ready?”

Louis blinks hard, feeling so, so overwhelmed. “Harry, are you sure?” he asks. “This is big. Once you’re out there’s no going back. And there’s no telling what effect this could have on your career.”

“I mean, I know that. It’s what my manager’s been telling me from day one. But my career isn’t everything. I don’t want to have to keep lying, keep sneaking around, keep hiding a part of who I am.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, unable to keep a small smile from his lips.

Harry grins back. “Yeah. Definitely. I want to do this.”

Louis barely has a chance to catch his breath before Harry’s leaning in and capturing his lips with his own. They’re both smiling too hard to it to become more than a chaste peck really, but Louis wraps an arm around the back of Harry’s neck to keep him close.

“I love you, Harry Styles,” he murmurs.

“Love you too,” Harry replies immediately. “I’m still mad at you though.” He’s still smiling against Louis’ mouth though, which somewhat lessens the effect of his words.

“I know you are, love,” Louis tells him anyway, and he feels Harry breathe out a laugh. And then they’re kissing, and giggling, and Louis hopes this fluttery feeling in his stomach never, _never_ goes away.

“So,” Louis pulls away from Harry to ask, “Are we in a relationship then? Like can I call you my boyfriend?”

Harry pauses. “I guess so? But, um, I don’t actually have a lot of experience being in relationships.”

Louis smirks. “Is this your way of telling me to go easy on you then?”

“Maybe a little?” Harry says sheepishly.

Louis laughs. “C’mere, Styles,” he says, not even waiting for Harry’s response before leaning over on the bed and kissing him. “I love you,” he says into the other boy’s mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Harry laughs. “I love you too. You’re a massive idiot, but god, you mean the world to me.”

And they kiss, until their kisses turn to gasps, and gasps turn to moans, and it’s hours later before either of them can even think of anything but each other.

And yeah, they’ve still got a few things they need to work out, and Louis doesn’t feel like he’ll ever stop apologising, but he knows that as long as he’s got Harry, it’s all going to be alright.

 

~*~

 

_2 years later…_

 

Louis _hates_ writer’s block, hates it with a passion. Honestly, why can’t he just _write_ something? He’s been sitting in his study staring at the same blank document on his laptop for half an hour now, and he wants to scream.

“Bloody fuck,” he moans into his own hands. “Why is this so hard?”

“You’re thinking about it too much, babe,” comes a voice behind him, and then strong arms are being wrapped around his shoulders. Harry rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder, his presence immediately calming and soothing. “Just relax. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

“I just… People expect a lot from me, you know?” Louis explains. “My first novel did so well, and if this one isn’t as good or better, then they’re just gonna call me a one-trick pony, a fucking one-hit wonder.”

“‘Course they’re not, love,” Harry assures him. “They’re going to call William Austin a one-hit wonder.”

Louis attempts to elbow him in the balls, but Harry was clearly expecting it, dodging easily. “You’re not funny, Styles!” he insists, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips.

“Excuse you, I’m very funny. You love my wit and charm.”

“Nah, I’m only in this for your massive cock,” Louis teases.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry complains, slapping him lightly on the back of his head. “Be nice or my massive cock and I are gonna walk right out that door.”

Louis smirks, always amazed at how quickly his boy can cheer him up. “Love you, you know?” he tells Harry.

“I know. I love you too,” Harry replies, eyes bright.

“How'd you get over that difficult second album then? Maybe the skills are transferable.”

“Oh, the second wasn't that bad actually. Not compared to the third anyway…”

Louis groans. “That's not helping!”

“Look Louis, there's a reason everyone loved your first novel. It wasn’t a fluke. You're a talented writer, and people can see that. You’ve just got to believe in yourself a little more.”

“You sound like one of those self-help books,” Louis says, but his insides are squirming. They always do whenever Harry pays him a compliment, no matter how small. Even after all these years Harry still has the power to reduce him to sappy, senseless shell of a man.

These last few years with Harry have just been incredible. Harry came out a few months after they officially got together, giving his team a chance to put a proper plan in place. Luckily the vast majority of Harry’s fans loved him no matter what, and a lot of them found his relationship with Louis adorable.

Not everyone, mind, but Louis is more than able to handle the odd homophobic tweet or badly-spelled death threat. They’re few and far between really, and they’re easy brush off when Louis knows he gets to go home every day to a house he shares with Harry, gets to kiss his boy to sleep every night.

Even the media reception had been overwhelmingly positive, with himself and Harry being declared a ‘power couple’, and ‘the new Posh and Becks’. Harry always insisted _he_ was Becks, but they both knew better.

Not everything was perfect. Outside of his relationship with Harry, Louis was finding it a little difficult to adjust to his new life. He was suddenly out of a job, and left with very few prospects. Simon had basically made sure he was unemployable, his name blacklisted in most media outlets in London. He didn’t regret quitting his job, not for a second, and Harry helped him out financially as much as Louis would let him, but still… He was used to being self-sufficient, and having to rely on Harry so much was admittedly a dent in his pride. Not to mention the whispering that started up on some corners of the internet, accusations that he was just a hanger-on, using Harry for his fame and money.

 _Those_ were the rumours that really bothered him.

In the end, Louis turned back to his first passion, back to writing. He found himself pulling out old manuscripts of novels he’d abandoned after they were rejected by one too many publishers. Reading back over them with fresh eyes, he could clearly see the mistakes his younger, less experienced self had made. Pages and pages of purple prose and rushed dialogue; it was no wonder really that no one picked them up. But at the time it had been heartbreaking, and demotivating, to have stories he’d spent months, _years_ , on, entire worlds he’d built, cast aside and labelled ‘not good enough’. He’d just given up, in the entire, convinced he was doomed to failure.

Louis could see the potential in his own writing though, and he was suddenly inspired. He began to spend his free time working on his novels, making edits wherever he deemed necessary, sometimes rewriting entire chapters. He fell in love with it again, with the way he could create entire universes from his own imagination.

Harry encouraged him, read over things for him, made him shut down his laptop when it got too late. He was Louis’ rock, a steady guiding hand, and when Louis’ first novel finally got picked up by a publisher, he was dutifully, lovingly acknowledged in the author’s dedication.

 

_\-- My dearest love_

_You are always in my heart --_

 

Against his agent’s wishes, Louis was determined not to publish under his own name. He wanted his success to be on his own terms, as a result of his own talent, his own hard work, and not just because he was dating Harry. Hence, he created the pseudonym of William Austin.

And despite all odds, his book was a success. And when Harry released his fourth album that was a success too, his sexuality apparently not an issue if sales were anything to go by. On the whole, life really couldn’t get any better.

A kiss pressed to the back of his head brings Louis back to the present, and then Harry’s grabbing the back of his chair to spin him around to face him. “Anyway, my darling Louis,” he starts, “never fear. Luckily for you I may have just the thing you need to get over your writer’s block.”

“You do?” Louis asks. “Why didn’t you say so sooner! Give it to me!” He makes grabby hands towards Harry, and Harry laughs.

“Just a sec. I’ll get it,” he tells Louis, wandering out of the room. He returns not long later, sheet of paper in hand.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, taking it from him.

“Read it,” is all Harry says. Louis does, letting his eyes trail down the page.

“It’s an e-ticket,” he says eventually.

“Yup.”

“For two flights to Prague.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “I just thought it might be nice to go back there, you know? It was the first place we went together, first place where I walked down the street holding your hand.” He smiles. “First place I kissed you in the rain.”

“I love you,” is all Louis can think to tell him, feeling his heart swell up so big he swears it could burst.

“I love you too,” Harry replies immediately, like he always does. “And who knows,” he adds, with a waggle of his eyebrows, “you might just find some inspiration.”

*

Landing in Prague floods Louis with a thousand different memories, and Louis can feel the wave of nostalgia wash over him. Only this time, everything is different. This time, when he steps off that plane, Harry’s hand is held tightly in his, and Harry have to doesn’t hide away to avoid being seen by fans. Instead, he takes a picture with every single one that approaches him, smiling when they tell him how cute he and Louis look together, and saying “I know,” with a smirk.

They go to the same hotel they stayed in one their first visit, and Harry’s even made sure to book them the exact same room. It’s a small romantic touch that has Louis jumping into his arms and kissing him soundly the second they step foot inside the door.

“This place is exactly how I remember it,” Louis says, wandering around, looking from room to room. “I don’t think they’ve changed a thing. Oh, Harry, look,” he calls, stopping in the doorway of the en suite bathroom, “the place where you first rimmed me.” He wipes a fake tear from his eye, as Harry comes up to stand behind him.

“You’re an idiot,” Harry murmurs, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair.

Louis just laughs. “You up for a repeat performance?” he asks, turning in Harry’s embrace and looking up at him through his lashes.

“Oh definitely,” Harry says immediately. “But it’ll have to wait until later. You and I have dinner reservations.”

“ _Haaaaaz_ ,” Louis whines, shoulders slumping. Harry hears no argument though, bopping Louis on the nose with his finger and then walking away, a small grin on his face.

The restaurant they eat at is similar to the last one, very much an upscale affair. Harry’s once again made sure that their table is private and secluded, away from where a fan could spot them. Harry never minds taking a photo or signing an autograph for a fan, but sometimes when he and Louis are out on a date they both like just to be left alone.

The hostess leads them to their seats, handing out menus, but before Louis’ even had a chance to take a look at his, Harry’s stretching over the table to snatch it away. “I’ll order for you,” he tells him.

“Excuse me, no you won’t,” Louis retorts, pulling the menu out of Harry’s reach. “Last time you did that I ended up eating pig’s knee.”

“You said that was nice!” Harry points out. “And I won’t order anything weird this time. I’ll get something you like, c’mon.” He holds out his hand like he’s expecting Louis to just hand the menu over.

“Nope,” Louis says, because he’s a little shit and he knows it. Harry knows it too, which is why even through his frustration he’s still fighting a tiny smile.

“Please, Louis.”

“No.”

“Hand it over or I won’t rim you tonight,” Harry threatens.

Louis almost wavers, but his stubborn nature wins through. “Then I guess you aren’t rimming me tonight,” he says, just a waitress approaches. Louis cheeks flare red, and he sincerely hopes her English isn’t good enough to understand what rimming means.

Luckily she seems unfazed. “Hello,” she greets pleasantly, “Are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have the mushroom and feta quiche,” Harry says quickly, “and he’ll have the roasted venison.”

The woman starts and scribbling down the order. “Hey, no I won’t,” Louis protests. “Scratch that out,” he tells her.

“Don’t scratch that out,” Harry cuts in immediately. The waitress looks at them both in confusion, pen hovering.

“No, I want the beef stroganoff,” Louis says.

“Well you’re not getting the beef stroganoff; you’re getting the venison. He’s getting the venison,” Harry tells the waitress firmly, as though that’s the end of the matter.

“No!” Louis exclaims.

“Go!” Harry half-shouts at the waitress, “Tell the chef he wants venison!”

The poor woman looks slightly frightened, and Louis think she’s possibly seconds away from calling security.

“Harry—”

“Go!” Harry yells, and the waitress is scarpering, leaving their table as quickly as she can.

“ _Harry_! Are you trying to get us kicked out?”

“No, I’m _trying_ to order you dinner, if you’d stop being so obtuse. You’re messing everything up!”

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?” Louis asks, and yes, he’s angry now. “I’m not the one who suddenly transformed into some weird, possessive control-freak! I can order my own fucking meals, Harry!”

“Will you stop shouting?” Harry shouts. “That’s not even what this is about! I had this whole fucking night planned, and you- Venison is a fucking codeword, you idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot- wait. What?”

“I—” Harry starts, but he’s interrupted by a server coming over, a man this time, balancing a silver tray on his hand.

“Mr. Styles,” he says, “and Mr. Tomlinson, please accept this, on the house.” He places a glass of champagne down in front of each them, as well as a small plate of oysters. “Enjoy!” the man tells them cheerily, and Louis doesn’t miss the subtle wink he throws Harry before he leaves.

“Seriously, Harry, what’s going on?” Louis asks, horribly confused.

Harry groans, covering his face with his hands. “This was way more romantic in my head…” He takes a moment, seemingly composing himself, before taking his hands away.

“Louis,” he says, voice incredibly serious. “These last few years with you have honestly been the happiest years of my life. Every day I wake up excited, because I get to spend the day with you, I get to hear your voice, see your smile, and that’s… that’s everything to me.”

Then Harry’s standing up, walking towards Louis’ side of the table, and Louis is vaguely aware that his entire body is shaking, and his heart may or may not have stopped beating, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Harry is right here in front of him, eyes wide and green and so, so beautiful.

“You infuriate me. You infuriate me so much, Louis. You’re so bloody stubborn you even managed to ruin your own proposal, which, by the way, I spent _ages_ planning out...” Louis has to force himself to listen, straining to hear over the low humming in his ears, the loudness of his own breathing.

Harry laughs. “You were _meant_ to just let me order, and the kitchen staff were supposed to know to bring out this bloody plate of oysters. And inside those oysters, you were meant to find a ring…”

At this point, Harry stops and plucks an oyster from the side of Louis’ plate. He cracks the shell open easily, but instead of the meat, the only thing inside it is a thick, silver band.

“God, you’re so, so stubborn… but I wouldn’t change you for the world. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. And I- I want you in my life forever.” Harry takes out the ring, holding it carefully between his index finger and his thumb as he sinks down on one knee.

“I love you, Louis William Tomlinson. I love you more each day, and I’m asking you will you- Will you marry me?”

Louis can see the slight shake in Harry’s hand, the tremor in his voice, and it’s that more than anything that makes Louis realise this is actually happening. Harry’s actually proposing and _shit_ , Louis needs to answer.

“Yeah,” he squeaks, and he can feel tears tracking their way down his cheeks, “Yes, Harry, I’ll marry you.” He holds out an unsteady hand, and barely breathes as Harry slides the ring onto his finger.

The two of them are silent, just looking at the band around Louis finger. Louis can feel the heavy weight of it, like an anchor holding him down, tying him to _Harry_. It looks like it belongs there.

“I love you so much, Harry,” is all he can say.

“I love you too,” Harry’s own voice is sounding rather wet, and then they’re both standing back up and throwing their arms around each other, laughing and sobbing into each other’s neck. Louis can't describe how happy he is that they're out of view of the rest of the restaurant, because they're causing quite a scene.

Louis almost can’t believe it. His mind can’t process it. Harry proposed, actually proposed. Oh god, he gets to be with Harry _forever_.

"Do we really have to stay here?" Louis asks eventually, once he’s managed to stop crying.

Harry pulls back, frown on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I just don’t think they’d take it very well if I bent you over this table and fucked you right here, so…”

Harry eyes widen. “Oh. Hotel then?”

“Definitely. Now, please.”

They leave with barely another word, Harry throwing what is probably far too much money down on the table, especially considering they didn’t actually eat anything. Neither of them care though, rushing out of the restaurant without a backwards glance, laughing and kissing their way through the city streets. Louis feels so incredibly happy, like there are little wings on his feet that could make him fly at any moment. He never wants this feeling to end.

And who knows. With Harry right by his side, maybe it never will.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This was all self-edited, so if you spotted any mistakes let me know so I can fix them. 
> 
> Also, if you like you can come say hi on tumblr at [smokeofthetrain](http://smokeofthetrain.tumblr.com/)!


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